LIBRARY^ 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

-n 

Class 


MAJOR-GENERAL  GEORGE  CROOK,  U.  S.  A. 


AMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK 
AND  STORIES  OF  ARMY  LIFE 


BY 

CAPTAIN  CHARLES  KING,  U.S.A. 

AUTHOR  OF  "BETWEEN  THE  LINES"  "A  WAR- TIME  WOOING' 
ETC.,  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW  YORK 

HARPER     &     BROTHERS,     FRANKLIN     SQUARE 
1890 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1880,  by 

CHARLES    KING, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


Copyright,  1890,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

All  righto  retervtd. 


PREFACE. 


TEN  years  ago,  at  the  request  of  the  editor  of  a 
paper  at  my  old  home,  these  sketches  of  the  Sioux 
Campaign  of  1876  were  written  and,  finding  favor 
with  comrades  to  whom  a  few  were  sent,  were  pub- 
lished in  pamphlet  form.  Now,  reinforced  by  certain 
other  sketches  which  have  since  appeared,  they  are 
given  a  new  framework. 

They  were  the  first-fruits,  so  to  speak,  of  a  pen  that 
has  since  been  seldom  idle.  They  were  rough  sketches, 
to  be  sure,  but  no  rougher  than  the  campaign  ;  and 
in  the  early  days  of  a  divorce  from  associations 
that  were  very  dear,  and  of  a  return  to  surroundings 
once  familiar,  yet,  after  twenty  years  of  absence,  so 
changed  that  a  cat  in  a  strange  garret  could  hardly 
have  felt  less  at  home,  I  laid  their  faint  tribute  of  re- 
spect and  honor  at  the  feet  of  the  soldier  who  had 
been  our  commander  in  the  wild  days  in  Arizona,  our 
leader  from  the  Platte  to  the  Yellowstone  and  our 
comrade  in  every  hardship  and  privation — Brigadier- 
General  George  Crook,  United  States  Army. 


224238 


IV  PREFACE. 

Only  enough  of  these  pamphlets  were  printed  to 
reach  the  few  hundred  comrades  who  rode  the  grim 
circuit  of  "  The  Bad  Lands "  in  that  eventful  cen- 
tennial year.  The  little  edition  was  long  ago  ex- 
hausted. The  years  that  followed  only  served  to 
strengthen  the  ties  that  bound  me  to  the  revered  com- 
mander of  old  cavalry  days.  Many  a  name  recorded 
in  these  pages  no  longer  graces  our  muster-rolls.  Ma- 
son, our  soldier  major,  gallant  Emmet  Crawford,  brave 
old  Munson,  daring  Philo  Clark ;  Rodgers  and  Price, 
Egan  and  Dewees,  Bache  and  Hunter,  have  been  called 
from  the  ranks  in  which  they  won  such  honor,  and, 
only  a  few  short  months  ago,  the  leader  whom  they 
so  faithfully  served  rejoined  them  on  the  farther  shore 
of  the  dark  and  silent  river.  The  mountains  and 
prairies  over  which  we  marched  and  fought  know  no 
longer  the  war-cry  of  painted  savage  or  the  din  of 
thrilling  combat.  Herds  of  browsing  cattle  crowd 
the  lovely  valleys  through  which  we  drove  the  buffalo. 
Peaceful  homes  and  smiling  villages  dot  the  broad 
Northwest  where  hardly  a  roof -tree  was  in  place  when 
Crook  essayed  the  task  of  subjugating  the  foeman  to 
settlement  and  civilization.  Another  star  had  been 
added  to  the  one  awarded  him  for  the  campaign  which 
left  the  fierce  Apaches  conquered  and  disarmed.  The 
highest  grade  in  the  army  had  been  attained  when, 
all  too  soon,  he  was  summoned  to  answer  to  his  name, 
"  beyond  the  veil." 


PREFACE.  V 

Better  pens  than  mine  shall  tell  our  people  of  his 
long  years  of  brave  and  faithful  service  in  which  this 
campaign  of  '76 — so  pregnant  with  interest  to  us  who 
rode  the  trail,  and  with  result  to  a  waiting  nation — 
was,  after  all,  only  an  episode  ;  but,  just  as  in  honor 
and  in  loyalty,  these  faint  pictures  of  the  stirring 
scenes  through  which  he  led  us  were  inscribed  to  him 
at  their  birth,  so  now,  with  added  honor  and  in  affec- 
tionate remembrance  tenfold  increased,  is  that  humble 
tribute  renewed. 

CHARLES  KING, 

Captain,  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

CAMPAIGNING  WITH  CROOK 1 

CAPTAIN  SANTA  GLAUS 173 

THE  MYSTERY  OF  'MAIIBIN  MILL .    .    .     .  209 

PLODDER'S  PROMOTION.     .    .  .265 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


MAJOR-GENERAL  GEORGE  CROOK,  U.  S.  A.   .      .      .  Frontispiece. 

FORT  FETTERMAN Facing  p.  44 

SUPPLY  CAMP,  HEAD  OF  TONGUE  RIVER  ...  "  54 

CROOK'S  COLUMN  ON  TONGUE  RIVER  ....  "  68 

A  SICK  SOLDIER  ON  A    "TRAVOIS" "  134 

DEADWOOD   CITY,  BLACK  HILLS  OF  DAKOTA.      .  "  146 

"THE  DANDY  FIFTH" "  158 

"'COME,  JACK,'  SAID  THE  CAPTAIN,  REASSUR- 
INGLY"    "  180 

"  ONE  MOMENT  MORE,  AND,  MUFFLED  IN  RED 
SILK,  HER  BIGGEST  LANTERN  SWUNG  GLOW- 
ING IN  THE  WINDOW" "  206 

"CAPTAIN  SANTA  CLAUS" "  208 


. 


CAMPAIGNING  WITH  CKOOK 


CHAPTER  I.        > 
FORT  HAYS  AND  THE  START. 

THE  disastrous  battle  on  the  Little  Horn,  which 
resulted  in  the  annihilation  of  General  Ouster  and 
his  five  favorite  companies  of  the  Seventh  Cavalry, 
occurred  on  the  25th  of  June,  1876.  On  the  4th  of 
that  month,  we  of  the  Fifth  Cavalry  were  far  to  the 
south,  scattered  over  the  boundless  prairies  of  Kan- 
sas. Regimental  headquarters  and  four  companies 
occupied  the  cosey  quarters  of  Fort  Hays,  nearly 
midway  between  Leavenworth  and  Denver,  Missouri 
and  the  mountains,  and  Company  "  K,"  of  which  I  then 
was  first  lieutenant,  had  pitched  its  tents  along  the 
banks  of  a  winding  fork  of  the  Smoky  Hill  River,  won- 
dering why  we  had  been  "routed  out "  from  our  snug 
barracks  and  stables  at  Fort  Riley,  and  ordered  to 
proceed,  "  equipped  for  field  service,"  to  Hays  City, 
by  rail.  Ordinarily,  Uncle  Sam  pays  the  costly  rail- 
way fare  for  horsemen  and  their  steeds  only  when 
danger  is  imminent.  The  two  posts  were  but  a  week's 
easy  march  apart ;  not  a  hostile  Indian  had  been  seen 
or  heard  of  in  all  Kansas  since  the  previous  winter ; 
General  Pope,  who  commanded  the  department,  had 
won  the  hearts  of  the  ladies  and  children  of  the  offi- 
cers' families  by  predicting  that  there  would  be  no 


4,    ,       ^     cl  ^  cMPAIGNItfG,  WITH    CROOK. 


separation  from  husbands  and  fathers  that  summer 
at  least;  all  the  ladies  had  "joined,"  and,  after  our 
long  sojourn  in  the  wilds  of  Arizona,  where  but  few 
among  them  had  been  able  to  follow  us,  we  were  re- 
joicing in  their  presence  and  luxuriating  in  the  pretty 
homes  ornamented  and  blessed  by  their  dainty  handi- 
work. Some  among  their  number  had  never  before 
appeared  in  garrison,  and  were  taking  their  first  les- 
son in  frontier  experience.  Some,  too,  had  only  been 
with  us  six  short  weeks,  and  did  not  dream  that  the 
daily  parades  in  which  they  took  so  much  delight, 
the  sweet  music  of  our  band,  the  brilliant  uniforms 
and  dancing  plumes  that  lent  such  color  and  life  to 
rapid  drill  or  stately  guard-mounting,  were  one  and 
all  but  part  and  parcel  of  the  preparation  for  scenes 
more  stirring,  far  less  welcome  to  such  gentle  eyes. 

Fort  Hays  was  joyous  with  mirth  and  music  and 
merry  laughter,  for  some  of  the  ladies  of  the  regi- 
ment had  brought  with  them  from  the  distant  East 
younger  sisters  or  friends,  to  whom  army  life  on  the 
plains  was  a  revelation,  and  in  whose  honor  a  large 
barrack-room  had  been  transformed  into  "the  loveli- 
est place  in  the  world  for  a  german,"  and  Strauss's 
sweetest  music  rose  and  fell  in  witching  invitation 
after  the  evening  tattoo.  Riding,  driving,  and  hunt- 
ing parties  were  of  daily  occurrence,  and  more  than 
one  young  fellow's  heart  seemed  in  desperate  jeopardy 
when  the  summons  came. 

The  sun  was  setting  in  a  cloudless  sky  as  I  reined 
in  my  horse  in  front  of  General  Carr's  quarters  and 
dismounted,  to  make  my  report  of  a  three  days'  hunt 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CEOOK.  5 

along  the  valley  of  the  Saline  for  stampeded  horses. 
The  band,  in  their  neat  summer  dress,  were  grouped 
around  the  flagstaff,  while  the  strains  of  "Soldaten 
Lieder "  thrilled  through  the  soft  evening  air,  and, 
fairly  carried  away  by  the  cadence  of  the  sweet  mu- 
sic, a  party  of  young  ladies  and  officers  had  dropped 
their  croquet  mallets  and  were  waltzing  upon  the 
green  carpet  of  the  parade.  Seated  upon  the  veran- 
das, other  ladies  and  older  officers  were  smilingly 
watching  the  pretty  scene,  and  on  the  western  side 
of  the  quadrangle  the  men  in  their  white  stable  frocks 
were  just  breaking  ranks  after  marching  up  from  the 
never-neglected  care  of  their  horses.  Half  a  dozen 
laughing  children  were  chasing  one  another  in  noisy 
glee,  their  bright  sashes  and  dainty  dresses  gleaming 
in  the  last  rays  of  the  golden  orb.  The  general  him- 
self was  gazing  thoughtfully  at  the  distant  line  of 
willows  that  fringed  the  banks  of  the  stream,  and 
holding  an  open  newspaper  in  his  hand  as  I  entered 
and  made  my  report. 

"  Have  you  heard  the  news  ?"  he  asked  me.  "  Schuy- 
ler  has  gone  to  join  General  Crook  as  aide-de-camp. 
Got  a  telegram  from  him  just  after  you  left  on  this 
scout,  and  started  last  night.  It's  my  belief  that 
Crook  will  have  a  big  campaign,  and  that  we'll  be 
sent  for.'* 

Ten  minutes  after,  as  the  trumpets  rang  out  the 
"retreat,"  and  the  last  echoes  of  the  evening  gun 
died  away  over  the  rolling  prairie,  we  noted  a  horse- 
man coming  at  rapid  gait  along  the  dusty  road  from 
Hays  City,  as  the  railway  station  was  hopefully 


6  CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK. 

named.  He  disappeared  among  the  foliage  in  the 
creek  bottom.  The  soft  hush  of  twilight  fell  upon 
the  garrison,  the  band  had  gone  away  to  supper,  the 
bevy  of  sweet-faced  girls  with  their  tireless  escorts 
had  gathered  with  a  number  of  officers  and  ladies  in 
front  of  the  general's  quarters,  where  he  and  I  were 
still  in  conversation,  when  the  horseman,  a  messenger 
from  the  telegraph  office,  reappeared  in  our  midst. 
"  Despatch  for  you,  general ;  thought  you'd  better 
have  it  at  once,"  was  all  he  said,  as  he  handed  it  to 
"the  chief,"  and,  remounting,  cantered  away. 

Carr  opened  the  ugly  brown  envelope  and  took 
out,  not  one,  but  three  sheets  of  despatch  paper,  close- 
ly written,  and  began  to  read.  Looking  around  upon 
the  assembled  party,  I  noticed  that  conversation  had 
ceased  and  a  dozen  pair  of  eyes  were  eagerly  scruti- 
nizing the  face  of  the  commanding  officer.  Anxious 
hearts  were  beating  among  those  young  wives  and 
mothers,  and  the  sweet  girl-faces  had  paled  a  little  in 
sympathy  with  the  dread  that  shone  all  too  plainly  in 
the  eyes  of  those  who  but  so  recently  had  undergone 
long  and  painful  separation  from  soldier  husbands. 
The  general  is  a  sphinx ;  he  gives  no  sign.  Slowly 
and  carefully  he  reads  the  three  pages  ;  then  goes 
back  and  begins  over  again.  At  last,  slowly,  thought- 
fully he  folds  it,  replaces  the  fateful  despatch  in  its 
envelope,  and  looks  up  expectant  of  question.  His 
officers,  restrained  by  discipline,  endeavor  to  appear 
unconcerned,  and  say  nothing.  The  ladies,  either  from 
dread  of  the  tidings  or  awe  of  him,  look  volumes,  but 
are  silent.  Human  nature  asserts  itself,  however,  and 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK.  7 

the  man  and  the  commander  turns  to  me  with,  "  Well, 
what  did  I  tell  you  ?"  And  so  we  got  our  orders  for 
the  Sioux  campaign  of  1876. 

To  the  officers,  of  course,  it  was  an  old  story.  There 
was  not  one  of  our  number  who  had  not  seen  hard 
campaigning  and  sharp  Indian  fighting  before.  But 
could  we  have  had  our  choice,  we  would  have  prefer- 
red some  less  abrupt  announcement.  Hardly  a  word 
was  spoken  as  the  group  broke  up  and  the  ladies 
sought  their  respective  homes,  but  the  bowed  heads 
and  hidden  faces  of  many  betrayed  the  force  of  the 
blow. 

The  officers  remained  with  General  Carr  to  receive 
his  instructions.  There  was  no  time  to  lose,  and  the 
note  of  preparation  sounded  on  the  spot.  General 
Sheridan's  orders  directed  four  companies  from  Fort 
Hays  to  proceed  at  once  to  Cheyenne  by  rail,  and 
there  await  the  coming  of  the  more  distant  companies 
— eight  in  all,  to  go  on  this,  the  first  alarm. 

Companies  "A,"  «B,"  "D,"  and  "K"  were  desig- 
nated to  go ;  "  E  "  to  stay  and  "  take  care  of  the  shop." 
Those  to  go  were  commanded  by  married  officers,  each 
of  whom  had  to  leave  wife  and  family  in  garrison.  "  E  " 
had  a  bachelor  captain,  and  a  lieutenant  whose  better 
half  was  away  in  the  East,  so  the  ladies  of  the  regiment 
were  ready  to  mob  the  general  for  his  selection ;  but 
there  was  wisdom  in  it.  In  ten  minutes  the  news  was 
all  over  the  post.  A  wild  Celtic  "  Hurray,  fellows, 
we're  going  for  to  join  Crook,"  was  heard  in  the  bar- 
racks, answered  by  shouts  of  approval  and  delight 
from  every  Paddy  in  the  command.  Ours  is  a  mixed 


8  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 

array  of  nationalities — Mulligan  and  Meiswinkel,  Cra- 
paud  and  John  Bull,  stand  shoulder  to  shoulder  with 
Yanks  from  every  portion  of  the  country.  In  four 
regiments  only  is  exclusiveness  as  to  race  permitted 
by  law.  Only  darkies  can  join  their  ranks.  Other- 
wise, there  is  a  promiscuous  arrangement  which,  oddly 
enough,  has  many  a  recommendation.  They  balance 
one  another  as  it  were — the  phlegmatic  Teuton  and 
the  fiery  Celt,  mercurial  Gaul  and  stolid  Anglo-Saxon. 
Dashed  and  strongly  tinctured  with  the  clear-headed 
individuality  of  the  American,  they  make  up  a  com- 
pany which  for  personnel  is  admirably  adapted  to  the 
wants  of  our  democratic  service.  The  company  of 
the  Fifth  Cavalry  most  strongly  flavored  with  Irish 
element  in  the  ranks  was  commanded  by  Captain 
Emil  Adam,  an  old  German  soldier,  whose  broken 
English  on  drill  was  the  delight  of  his  men.  "The 
representative  Paddy,"  as  he  calls  himself,  Captain 
Nick  Nolan,  of  the  Tenth  Cavalry,  has  an  Ethiopian 
lieutenant  (a  West-Pointer)  and  sixty  of  the  very  best 
darkies  that  ever  stole  chickens.  But  wherever  you 
meet  them,  the  first  to  hurray  at  the  chance  of  a  fight 
is  the  Pat,  and  no  matter  how  gloomy  or  dismal  the 
campaign,  if  there  be  any  fun  to  be  extracted  from 
its  incidents,  he  is  the  man  to  find  it. 

And  so  our  Irishmen  gave  vent  to  their  joy,  and 
with  whistling  and  singing  the  men  stowed  away 
their  helmets  and  full-dress  uniforms,  their  hand- 
some belts  and  equipments,  and  lovingly  reproduced 
the  old  Arizona  slouch  hats  and  "thimble  belts,"  and 
the  next  evening  our  Fort  Hays  command,  in  two 


CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 

special  trains,  was  speeding  westward  as  fast  as  the 
Kansas  Pacific  could  cany  us.  The  snow-capped 
peaks  of  the  Rockies  hove  in  sight  next  day,  and 
Denver  turned  out  in  full  force  to  see  us  go  through. 
At  evening  on  the  7th,  we  were  camping  on  the 
broad  prairie  near  Cheyenne.  Here  Major  Upham 
joined  us  with  Company  "I."  A  week  after  we  were  off 
for  Laramie.  On  the  22d,  our  companies  were  ordered 
straight  to  the  north  to  find  the  crossing  of  the 
broad  Indian  trail  from  the  Red  Cloud  and  Spot- 
ted Tail  reservations,  by  which  hundreds  of  Indians 
were  known  to  be  going  to  the  support  of  Sitting 
Bull  and  Crazy  Horse. 

We  were  to  hide  in  the  valley  of  the  South  Chey- 
enne, near  the  base  of  the  Black  Hills,  and  cut  off  the 
Indian  supplies.  Buffalo  Bill  had  joined  us,  his  old 
comrades  of  the  Sioux  war  of  1868-69  ;  and  though 
we  feared  the  Indians  would  be  quick  to  detect  our 
presence,  and  select  others  of  a  dozen  routes  to  the 
Powder  River  country,  we  hoped  to  be  able  to  nab 
a  few. 

On  the  24th,  we  had  begun  our  march  at  6  A.M.  from 
the  Cardinal's  Chair,  at  the  head  of  the  Niobrara,  and 
before  noon  had  descended  into  the  valley  of  "  Old 
Woman's  Fork,"  of  the  South  Cheyenne.  We  had 
with  us  two  half-breed  Sioux  scouts  and  an  Indian 
boy,  "  Little  Bat,"  who  had  long  been  employed  by 
the  Fort  Laramie  officers  as  a  reliable  guide.  Camp- 
ing at  noon  along  the  stream,  I  was  approached  by 
Major  Stanton,  who  had  joined  our  column  under  in- 
structions from  General  Sheridan,  and  informed  that 


10  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 

he  was  going  to  push  ahead  of  the  column  at  once, 
as  the  scouts  reported  recent  Indian  signs.  It  was 
necessary,  he  said,  that,  he  should  get  to  the  Chey- 
enne as  quickly  as  possible,  and  he  wanted  me  to  go 
as  commander  of  the  escort.  In  half  an  hour  we  were 
in  saddle  again,  Major  Stanton  with  his  blunderbuss 
of  a  rifle,  "  Little  Bat "  in  his  semi  -  civilized  garb, 
Lieutenant  Keyes  with  forty  men  of  Company  "  C,"  and 
myself.  The  general  detained  me  a  moment  to  con- 
vey some  earnest  instructions,  and  to  post  me  on  cer- 
tain points  in  Sioux  warfare  which  experience  with 
Apaches  was  supposed  to  have  dulled,  and,  with  the 
promise,  "  I'll  follow  on  your  trail  to-morrow,"  waved 
his  hand,  and  in  two  minutes  we  were  out  of  sight 
down  the  winding  valley. 

Three  P.M.  is  early  on  a  long  June  day.  We  rode 
swiftly,  steadily,  but  cautiously  northward  ;  the  val- 
ley widened  out  to  east  and  west ;  we  made  numerous 
cut-offs  among  the  bends  of  the  stream,  crossing  low 
ridges,  at  each  one  of  which  Bat,  well  to  the  front, 
would  creep  to  the  top,  keenly  scrutinize  all  the  country 
around,  and  signal  "  come  on."  At  5  o'clock  he  sud- 
denly halted  and  threw  himself  from  his  horse,  and  I 
cantered  forward  to  see  what  was  up.  We  had  struck 
our  first  trail  of  the  campaign,  and  the  yielding  soil  was 
thick  with  pony  tracks.  Coming  from  the  east,  the 
direction  of  the  reservation,  they  led  straight  down  the 
valley,  and  we  followed.  Every  now  and  then  other 
tracks  from  the  east  joined  those  we  were  on,  and 
though  at  least  four  or  five  days  old,  they  were  of  in- 
terest. Half  an  hour  before  sunset,  far  off  among 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK.  11 

the  hills  to  the  northeast,  a  thin  column  of  smoke 
shot  up  into  the  clear  sky.  Ten  minutes  more  another 
rose  in  the  west.  They  were  Sioux  signals,  and  we 
were  discovered.  But  the  country  was  open  all 
around  us  ;  not  a  tree  except  the  cottonwoods  along 
the  narrow  stream-bed,  no  fear  of  ambuscade,  and  we 
must  not  halt  until  within  sight  of  the  Cheyenne  val- 
ley ;  so  on  we  go.  Just  at  twilight,  Bat,  five  hun- 
dred yards  in  front,  circles  his  horse  rapidly  to  the 
left,  and  again  I  join  him.  It  is  the  recent  trail  of  a 
war -party  of  Sioux,  crossing  the  valley,  and  disap- 
pearing among  the  low  hills  to  the  northwest.  They 
number  fifty  warriors,  and  those  whose  tracks  we 
have  been  following  took  the  same  direction  —  the 
short  cut  towards  the  Big  Horn  mountains.  Our 
march  is  very  cautious  now — advance,  flankers,  and 
rear  guard  of  old,  tried  soldiers,  well  out  ;  but  on  we 
jog  through  the  gathering  darkness,  and  at  nine  P.M.,  as 
we  ride  over  a  ridge,  Bat  points  out  to  me  a  long,  low 
line  of  deeper  shade,  winding  six  or  seven  miles  away 
in  the  moonlight.  It  is  the  timber  along  the  Chey- 
enne, and  now  we  may  hunt  for  water  and  give  our 
tired  horses  rest  and  grass.  The  valley  is  broad  ; 
the  water  lies  only  in  scanty  pools  among  the  rocks 
in  the  stream-bed.  There  has  been  no  rain  for  a 
month,  and  there  is  not  a  blade  of  grass  nearer  than 
the  bluffs,  a  mile  away.  Our  horses  drink  eagerly, 
and  then  in  silence  we  fill  our  canteens  and  move  off 
towards  the  hills.  Here  I  find  a  basin  about  two  hun- 
dred yards  in  diameter,  in  which  we  "  half  lariat "  and 
hobble  our  horses  ;  dig  holes  in  the  ground,  wherein, 


12  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 

with  sage  brush  for  fuel,  we  build  little  fires  and  boil 
our  coffee,  while  Keyes  and  I  take  a  dozen  of  our 
men  and  post  them  around  our  bivouac  at  points  com- 
manding every  approach.  No  Indian  can  reach  us 
unseen  through  that  moonlight.  ISTo  Indian  cares  to 
attack  at  night,  unless  he  has  a  "  sure  thing  ;"  and 
though  from  five  different  points  we  catch  the  blaze 
of  signal  fires,  we  defy  surprise,  and  with  ready  car- 
bine by  our  side  we  eat  our  crisp  bacon,  sip  the  wel- 
come tin  of  steaming  coffee,  then  light  our  pipes  and 
chat  softly  in  the  cool  night  air.  Little  we  dream  that 
two  hundred  miles  away  Ouster  is  making  his  night 
ride  to  death.  Our  supports  are  only  twenty-five  miles 
away.  We  dread  no  attack  in  such  force  that  we  can- 
not "stand  off"  until  Carr  can  reach  us,  and,  as  I 
make  my  rounds  among  the  sentinels  to  see  that  all 
are  vigilant,  the  words  of  the  Light  Cavalryman's 
song  are  sounding  in  my  ears  : 

"  The  ring  of  a  bridle,  the  stamp  of  a  hoof, 

Stars  above  and  the  wind  in  the  tree  ; 
A  bush  for  a  billet,  a  rock  for  a  roof, 

Outpost  duty's  the  duty  for  me. 
Listen  !    A  stir  in  the  valley  below — 

The  valley  below  is  with  riflemen  crammed, 
Cov'ring  the  column  and  watching  the  foe  ; 

Trumpet-Major  !    Sound  and  be  d ." 

Bang  !     There's  a  shot  from  below,  and  the  biv- 
ouac springs  to  life. 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH   CKOOK.  13 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  TRAIL  AND   THE   CHASE. 

A  SHOT  in  the  dead  of  night  from  an  outpost  in 
the  heart  of  the  Indian  country  is  something  that 
soon  ceases  to  be  either  exciting  or  of  great  interest, 
but  the  first  that  is  heard  on  the  campaign  makes  the 
pulses  bound.  Men  sprang  to  their  feet,  horses 
pawed  and  snorted,  and  the  sergeant  of  the  guard 
and  myself  made  rapid  time  to  the  point  from  which 
the  alarm  had  come.  There  was  the  sentinel  alone, 
unharmed,  but  perturbed  in  spirit.  To  the  question, 
somewhat  sternly  put,  "  Who  fired  that  shot  ?"  he  re- 
plies, with  evident  chagrin,  "I  did,  sir  ;  somethin'  was 
crawlin'  right  up  that  holler,  an'  I  challenged  an'  he 
didn't  answer,  an'  I  fired  ;  but  danged  if  I  know  what 
it  was."  Before  there  is  time  to  say  a  word  of  re- 
buke, plainly  enough  in  the  bright  moonlight  some- 
thing does  come  crawling  up  out  of  a  "  hollow "  two 
hundred  yards  away — something  of  a  yellow  or  red- 
dish brown,  on  four  legs,  with  a  long,  smooth,  sneak- 
ing shamble  that  carries  the  quadruped  rapidly  over 
the  ground,  then  changes  to  an  ungainly  lope,  which 
takes  him  to  a  safe  distance  in  six  seconds  ;  and  there 
the  creature  turns,  squats  on  his  haunches,  and  coolly 
surveys  us.  Turning  away  in  silent  indignation,  as  I 


14  CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CEOOK. 

get  almost  out  of  earshot  it  is  some  comfort  to  hear 
the  sergeant's  pithy  commentary,  "  Ye  wall-eyed  gut- 
ter-snipe, your  grandmother  would  ha'  known  that  was 
nothin'  but  a  cayote." 

Then  follows  the  inevitable  volley  of  chaff  with 
which  the  Paddy  greets  every  blunder  on  the  part  of 
his  fellow-soldiers,  and  for  a  few  minutes  the  silent 
bivouac  is  rollicking  with  fun.  That  some  recent  at- 
tempt has  been  made  to  instruct  the  troopers  of  Com- 
pany "  C  "  in  the  finesse  of  sentry  duty  is  apparent 
from  the  shouted  query,  "Hi,  Sullivan,  if  it  was  two 
cayotes  would  you  advance  the  saynior  or  the  junior 
wid  the  countersign  ?"  at  which  there  is  a  roar,  and 
Lieutenant  Keyes  visibly  blushes.  In  half  an  hour 
all  is  quiet  again.  Officers  and  men,  we  watch  turn 
and  turn  about  during  the  night,  undisturbed,  save  at 
3  o'clock  the  outlying  sentries  report  that  they  dis- 
tinctly heard  the  rapid  beat  of  many  hoofs  dying 
away  towards  the  west. 

We  are  astir  at  the  first  gray  of  dawn,  rolling  our 
blankets  and  promptly  saddling,  for  we  must  ride 
well  down  the  Cheyenne  and  find  the  Mini  Pusa,  the 
dry  north  fork,  before  breakfast  can  be  attended  to. 
No  stirring  trumpet  marks  our  reveille.  We  mount 
in  silence,  and  like  shadowy  spectres  ride  away  north- 
ward in  the  broadening  valley.  The  stars  are  not  yet 
paling  in  the  west,  but  Bat's  quick  eye  detects  fresh 
hoof-prints  not  two  hours  old  in  the  springy  soil  of  the 
hillside,  half  a  mile  out  from  camp.  Sure  enough. 
They  had  prowled  around  us  during  the  night,  long- 
ing for  our  scalps,  but  not  daring  to  attack.  Only  a 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH   CROOK.  15 

few  venturesome  spies  had  galloped  down  to  take 
observations,  and  had  then  ridden  away  to  join  their 
brothers  in  arms,  and  plot  our  destruction.  We 
laughed  as  we  shook  our  bridle-reins  and  jogged 
along,  thinking  how  confounded  they  would  be 
when  they  caught  sight  of  our  main  body,  who, 
with  General  Can*  at  their  head,  would  be  along  by 
noon.  A  six  -  mile  ride  brought  us  into  the  belt  of 
cottonwoods  and  willows  along  the  bed  of  the 
stream,  but  the  South  Cheyenne  had  sunk  out  of 
sight.  Broad  reaches  of  streaked  and  rippled  sand 
wound  through  the  timber,  clearly  showing  where, 
earlier  in  the  season,  a  rapid,  sweeping  torrent  had 
borne  great  logs  and  heaps  of  brushwood  upon  its 
tawny  breast ;  but  it  had  dwindled  away  to  nothing, 
and  our  thirsty  horses  looked  reproachfully  at  their 
masters  as,  dismounting,  we  ploughed  up  the  yield- 
ing sand,  in  hopes  of  finding  the  needed  water  be- 
neath. This  is  one  of  the  dismal  peculiarities  of  the 
streams  of  the  Far  West.  On  the  1st  of  May  we 
would  have  found  that  valley  barely  fordable  ;  on 
the  25th  of  June  it  was  as  dry  as  a  bone. 

Mounting  again,  and  scattering  through  the  timber 
"down  stream,"  a  shout  from  Major  Stanton  had  the 
effect  of  the  trumpet  rally  on  skirmish  drill. 

Our  party  came  together  with  eager  haste,  and 
found  him  under  a  steep  bank,  shaded  by  willows,  his 
horse  fetlock  deep  in  what  remained  of  a  once  deep 
pool  ;  and  two  or  three  at  a  time  our  chargers  slaked 
their  thirst.  It  was  poor  water — warm,  soapy,  alka- 
line— but  better  than  none  at  all. 


16  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 

Just  before  noon  we  were  clambering  up  the  hills 
on  the  northeast  of  the  Mini  Pusa.  Our  orders  were 
to  proceed  with  the  utmost  caution  on  nearing  the 
trail.  General  Sheridan  had  clearly  indicated  that  it 
must  cross  the  valley  of  the  South  Cheyenne  some 
distance  west  of  the  Beaver,  and  very  near  its  conflu- 
ence with  the  Mini  Pusa.  Stanton  and  I,  with  our 
field  -  glasses  in  hand,  were  toiling  up  through  the 
yielding,  sandy  soil  with  Little  Bat ;  Lieutenant  Keyes 
and  the  escort,  leading  their  horses,  following.  Once 
at  the  top  of  the  ridge  we  felt  sure  of  seeing  the 
country  to  the  eastward,  and  hardly  had  Bat  reached 
the  crest  and  peered  cautiously  over  than  he  made  a 
quick  gesture  which  called  the  major  and  myself  to 
his  side.  He  pointed  to  the  southeast,  and,  sweeping 
our  glasses  in  that  direction,  we  plainly  saw  the  broad, 
beaten  track.  It  looked  like  a  great  highway,  de- 
serted and  silent,  and  it  led  from  the  thick  timber  in 
the  Cheyenne  valley  straight  to  the  southeast  up  the 
distant  slope,  and  disappeared  over  the  dim,  misty 
range  of  hills  in  the  direction  of  the  Red  Cloud  and 
Spotted  Tail  reservations. 

General  Sheridan  was  right.  Sitting  in  his  distant 
office  in  Chicago,  he  was  so  thoroughly  informed  that 
he  could  order  out  his  cavalry  to  search  through  a  re- 
gion hitherto  known  only  to  the  Sioux,  and  tell  them 
just  where  they  would  find  the  highway  by  which  the 
vast  hordes  of  hostiles  under  Sitting  Bull  were  receiv- 
ing daily  reinforcements  and  welcome  supplies  of  am- 
munition from  the  agencies  three  and  four  hundred 
miles  to  the  southeast. 


CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CKOOK.  17 

This  was  the  traffic  which  General  Carr  and  the 
Fifth  Cavalry  were  ordered  to  break  up  ;  and  here, 
just  at  noon,  our  little  band  of  three  officers  and 
forty  men,  far  in  the  advance,  had  struck  the  trail, 
as  General  Sheridan  predicted.  Keeping  horses  and 
men  well  under  cover,  we  crept  to  a  farther  ridge, 
and  from  there  our  glasses  commanded  a  grand  sweep 
of  country  :  the  valley  of  the  South  Cheyenne  for  fifty 
miles  to  the  southeastward,  until  the  stream  itself  was 
lost  in  the  tortuous  canon  of  the  Southern  Black 
Hills  ;  the  great,  towering  range  of  the  Black  Hills 
themselves  forty  miles  to  the  eastward,  and  the  lone 
peak  far  to  the  northeast  that  the  Sioux  called  (pho- 
netically spelling)  Heengha  Kahga.  The  earliest  maps 
simplified  that  into  "  Inyan  Kara,"  and  now  the  school- 
children of  Dead  wood  talk  glibly  of  the  big  hill  that, 
higher  than  Harney's  or  Caster's  Peak,  their  geogra- 
phy terms  the  "Indian  Carry."  Why  can't  we  keep 
the  original  names  ?" 

Once  thoroughly  satisfied  of  our  proximity  to  the 
trail,  Major  Stanton  directed  the  escort  to  retrace  its 
steps  to  the  thick  timber  along  the  Mini  Pusa,  where 
it  would  be  out  of  sight,  while  he  and  I,  with  our  pow- 
erful binoculars,  kept  watch  upon  the  Indian  high- 
way. The  afternoon  was  hot  and  cloudless  ;  not  a 
breath  of  air  stirred  the  clumps  of  sage-bush,  the 
only  vegetation  along  the  bluffs  and  slopes.  The  at- 
mosphere was  dazzlingly  clear,  and  objects  were  visi- 
ble to  us  through  our  glasses  that  we  knew  to  be  miles 
away.  The  signal  smokes  to  the  west,  and  our  front 
of  the  day  before,  had  disappeared  ;  not  a  living  thing 


18  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CKOOK. 

was  in  sight.  Our  men  and  horses  were  hidden  among 
the  dense  cottonwoods  a  mile  behind  us,  but,  though 
invisible  to  us,  we  well  knew  that  trusty  eyes  were 
keeping  watch  for  the  first  signal  from  the  hill- 
side. 

Three — four  o'clock  came,  and  not  a  soul  had  ap- 
peared upon  the  Indian  trail.  Away  over  the  inter- 
vening ridge  to  the  rear  we  could  see  the  valley  of 
Old  Woman's  Fork,  down  which  we  had  come  the 
day  previous,  and  our  glasses  detected,  by  an  hour 
after  noon,  clouds  of  dust  rising  high  in  air,  harbingers 
of  the  march  of  General  Carr  and  the  main  body.  At 
last  the  major  closed  his  glasses  with  a  disgusted  snap 
and  the  remark,  "I  don't  believe  there's  an  Indian 
stirring  to-day." 

Not  in  our  sight — not  within  our  hearing,  perhaps. 
The  blessed  Sabbath  stillness  falls  on  all  within  our 
ken  ;  our  steeds  are  blinking,  our  men  are  drowsing 
in  the  leafy  shades  below.  Only  the  rising  dust,  miles 
to  the  southward,  reveals  the  coming  of  comrade  sol- 
diery. Far  to  the  northwest,  a  single  dark  speck, 
floating  against  the  blue  of  heaven,  attracts  the  lin- 
gering inspection  of  my  field-glass.  Eagle  or  buz- 
zard, I  do  not  know.  The  slow,  circling,  stately  flight 
in  ascending  spiral  carries  him  beyond  our  vision,  but 
from  his  altitude  the  snow-capped  peaks  of  the  Big 
Horn  range  are  clearly  visible,  and  on  this  still  Sab- 
bath afternoon  those  mighty  peaks  are  looking  down 
upon  a  scene  of  carnage,  strife,  and  slaughter  that,  a 
week  hence,  told  only  by  curt  official  despatches,  will 
thrill  a  continent  with  horror.  Even  as  we  watch 


CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK.  19 

there  on  the  slopes  by  the  Mini  Pusa,  Stanton  and  I, 
grumbling  at  our  want  of  luck  in  not  sighting  an  Ind- 
ian, many  a  true  and  trusted  comrade,  many  an  old 
cadet  friend  of  boyish  days,  many  a  stalwart  soldier 
is  biting  the  dust  along  the  Little  Horn,  and  the  names 
of  Ouster  and  his  men  are  dropping  from  the  muster- 
rolls.  The  heroes  of  a  still  mightier  struggle,  the  vic- 
tors of  an  immortal  defence  of  national  honor,  are  fall- 
ing fast  till  all  are  gone,  victims  of  a  thankless  warfare. 

No  wonder  the  Indians  have  no  time  to  bother  with 
us.  We  bivouac  in  undisturbed  serenity  that  night, 
and  join  our  regiment  in  the  Cheyenne  valley  at  noon 
next  day  without  so  much  as  an  adventure.  That 
night  Company  "I"  is  thrown  forward  to  scout  the 
trail,  while  the  regiment  camps  out  of  sight  among 
the  cotton  woods,  and  for  the  next  week  we  keenly 
watch  the  neighborhood,  all  the  companies  making 
thorough  scouts  in  each  direction,  but  finding  nothing 
of  consequence.  Small  parties  of  Indians  are  chased, 
but  easily  escape,  and  there  isn't  a  doubt  that  the 
reservation  Indians  know  of  our  whereabouts,  and  so 
avoid  us. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  July  1st,  our  new  colonel, 
Wesley  Merritt,  famous  as  a  cavalry  commander  dur- 
ing the  War  of  the  Rebellion,  arrives  and  assumes  the 
reins  of  government,  relieving  General  Carr,  who  falls 
back  to  second  in  command.  We  are  all  agog  to  see 
what  will  be  our  new  chief's  first  move.  He  is  fresh 
from  Sheridan's  staff  in  Chicago,  and  is  doubtless 
primed  with  latest  instructions  and  wishes  of  the  lieu- 
tenant-general. He  is  no  stranger  to  us,  nor  we  to 


20  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 

him,  and  his  first  move  is  characteristic.  At  dawn  of 
day  of  the  2d,  he  marches  us  four  miles  down  stream 
to  better  grass  and  a  point  nearer  the  big  trail ;  sends 
Montgomery  with  his  grays  to  scout  over  towards 
the  Black  Hills,  and  Hayes  and  Bishop  with  Com- 
pany "  G  "  to  lie  along  the  trail  itself — but  no  Indian 
is  sighted. 

The  sun  is  just  rising  on  the  morning  of  the  3d  of 
July  when  my  captain,  Mason,  and  I  roll  out  of  our 
blankets  and  set  about  the  very  simple  operations  of 
a  soldier's  campaign  toilet.  The  men  are  grooming 
their  horses  ;  the  tap  of  the  curry-comb  and  the  im- 
patient pawing  of  hoofs  is  music  in  the  clear,  crisp, 
bracing  air.  Our  cook  is  just  announcing  breakfast, 
and  I  am  eagerly  sniffing  the  aroma  of  coffee,  when 
General  Merritt's  orderly  comes  running  through  the 
trees.  "  Colonel  Mason,  the  general  directs  Com- 
pany "  K  "  to  get  out  as  quickly  as  possible — Indians 
coming  up  the  valley!"  "Saddle  up,  men  !  lively 
now  !"  is  the  order.  We  jump  into  boots  and  spurs, 
whip  the  saddles  from  saplings  and  stumps,  rattle  the 
bits  between  the  teeth  of  our  excited  horses,  sling 
carbines  over  shoulder,  poke. fresh  cartridges  into  re- 
volver chambers,  look  well  to  the  broad  horsehair 
"  cinches,"  or  girths.  The  men  lead  into  line,  count 
fours,  mount,  and  then,  without  a  moment's  pause, 
"  Fours  right,  trot,"  is  the  order,  and  Mason  and  I 
lead  off  at  a  spanking  gait,  winding  through  the  tim- 
ber and  suddenly  shooting  out  upon  the  broad,  sandy 
surface  of  the  dry  stream-bed.  There  the  first  man 
we  see  is  Buffalo  Bill,  who  swings  his  hat.  "  This 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CEO  OK.  21 

way,  colonel,  this  way,"  and  away  we  go  on  his  tracks. 
"K"  is  a  veteran  company.  Its  soldiers  are,  with  few 
exceptions,  on  their  second  and  third  enlistments.  Its 
captain  ranks  all  the  line  officers  of  the  regiment,  and 
admirably  commanded  it  during  the  war  while  the 
field  officers  were  doing  duty  as  generals  of  volun- 
teers. There  is  hardly  a  trace  of  nervousness  even 
among  the  newest  comers,  but  this  is  the  first  chase  of 
the  campaign  for  us,  and  all  are  eager  and  excited. 
Horses  in  rear  struggle  to  rush  to  the  front,  and  as 
we  sputter  out  of  the  sand  and  strike  the  grassy  slopes 
beyond  the  timber  belt  all  break  into  a  lope.  Two  or 
three  scouts  on  a  ridge  five  hundred  yards  ahead  are 
frantically  signalling  to  us,  and,  bending  to  the  left 
again,  we  sweep  around  towards  them,  now  at  a  gal- 
lop. Mason  sternly  cautions  some  of  the  eager  men 
who  are  pressing  close  behind  us,  and,  looking  back,  I 
see  Sergeant  Stauffer's  bronzed  face  lighting  up  with 
a  grin  I  used  to  mark  in  the  old  Apache  campaigns 
in  Arizona,  and  the  veteran  " Kelly"  riding,  as  usual, 
all  over  his  horse,  but  desperately  bent  on  being  ahead 
when  we  reach  the  scene.  Left  hands  firmly  grasp 
the  already  foaming  reins,  while  throughout  the  col- 
umn carbines  are  "  advanced  "  in  the  other. 

"Here  comes  Company  'I,'  fellers,"  is  the  muttered 
announcement  from  the  left  and  rear,  and,  glancing 
over  my  left  shoulder,  I  see  Kellogg  with  his  bays  and 
Lieutenant  Reilly  swinging  out  along  the  slope  to  our 
left.  As  we  near  the  ridge  and  prepare  to  deploy,  ex- 
citement is  subdued  but  intense — Buffalo  Bill  plung- 
ing along  beside  us  on  a  strawberry  roan,  sixteen 


22  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CEOOK. 

hands  high,  gets  a  trifle  of  a  lead,  but  we  go  tearing 
up  the  crest  in  a  compact  body,  reach  it,  rein  up, 
amazed  and  disgusted — not  an  Indian  to  be  seen  for 
two  miles  across  the  intervening  "swale."  Away  to 
the  left,  towards  the  Cheyenne,  scouts  are  again  ex- 
citedly beckoning,  and  we  move  rapidly  towards  them, 
but  slower  now,  for  Mason  will  not  abuse  his  horses 
for  a  wild-goose  chase.  Ten  minutes  bring  us  thither. 
Kellogg  has  joined  forces  with  us,  and  the  two  com- 
panies are  trotting  in  parallel  columns.  Still  no  Indian  ; 
but  the  scouts  are  ahead  down  the  valley,  and  we  fol- 
low for  a  brisk  half-hour,  and  find  ourselves  plunging 
through  the  timber  ten  miles  east  of  camp.  Another 
hour  and  we  are  dashing  along  a  high  ridge  parallel 
with  the  Black  Hills,  and  there,  sure  enough,  are  Ind- 
ians, miles  ahead,  and  streaking  it  for  the  Powder 
River  country  as  fast  as  their  ponies  can  carry  them. 
We  have  galloped  thirty  miles  in  a  big  circle  before 
catching  sight  of  our  chase,  and  our  horses  are  pant- 
ing and  wearied.  Every  now  and  then  we  pass  pack- 
saddles  with  fresh  agency  provisions,  which  they  had 
dropped  in  their  haste.  Once  our  scouts  get  near 
enough  to  exchange  a  shot  or  two,  but  at  last  they 
fairly  beat  us  out  of  sight,  and  we  head  for  home, 
reach  camp,  disgusted  and  empty-handed,  about  four 
P.M.  Two  "  heavy  weights "  ( Colonel  Leib's  and 
Lieutenant  Reilly's)  horses  drop  dead  under  them, 
and  the  first  pursuit  of  the  Fifth  is  over. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  WAR  BONNET. 

THE  chase  of  July  3d,  besides  killing  two  and  using 
up  a  dozen  horses,  rendered  our  further  presence  in 
the  valley  of  the  Cheyenne  clearly  useless.  No  more 
Indians  would  be  apt  to  come  that  way  when  they 
had  the  undisturbed  choice  of  several  others.  Gen- 
eral Merritt  was  prompt  to  accept  the  situation,  and 
as  prompt  to  act.  Early  the  next  morning,  "  K  "  and 
"  I,"  the  two  companies  engaged  in  the  dash  of  the 
day  before,  took  the  direct  back  track  up  the  valley 
of  Old  Woman's  Fork,  guarding  the  chief  and  the 
wagons.  General  Carr,  with  companies  "B,"  "G," 
and  "  M,"  marched  eastward  towards  the  Black  Hills, 
while  Major  Upham,  with  «  A,"  "  C,"  and  "  D,"  struck 
out  northwestward  up  the  valley  of  the  Mini  Pusa. 
Both  commands  were  ordered  to  make  a  wide  detour, 
scout  the  country  for  forty-eight  hours,  and  rejoin 
headquarters  at  the  head  of  what  was  then  called 
Sage  Creek.  We  of  the  centre  column  spent  the  glo- 
rious Fourth  in  a  dusty  march,  and  followed  it  up  on 
the  5th  with  another. 

On  the  6th,  a  courier  was  sent  in  to  Fort  Laramie, 
seventy  miles  away,  while  the  regiment  camped  along 
the  stream  to  wait  for  orders.  Towards  ten  o'clock 


24  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CKOOK. 

on  the  following  morning,  while  the  camp  was  prin- 
cipally occupied  in  fighting  flies,  a  party  of  the  junior 
officers  were  returning  from  a  refreshing  bath  in  a 
deep  pool  of  the  stream,  when  Buffalo  Bill  came  hur- 
riedly towards  them  from  the  general's  tent.  His  hand- 
some face  wore  a  look  of  deep  trouble,  and  he  brought 
us  to  a  halt  in  stunned,  awe-stricken  silence  with  the 
announcement,  "  Ouster  and  five  companies  of  the 
Seventh  wiped  out  of  existence.  It's  no  rumor — Gen- 
eral Merritt's  got  the  official  despatch." 

N~ow  we  knew  that  before  another  fortnight  the 
Fifth  would  be  sent  to  reinforce  General  Crook  on 
the  Big  Horn.  Any  doubts  as  to  whether  a  big  cam- 
paign was  imminent  were  dispelled.  Few  words  were 
spoken — the  camp  was  stilled  in  soldierly  mourning. 
That  night  Lieutenant  Hall  rode  in  with  later  news 
and  letters.  He  had  made  the  perilous  trip  from  Lar- 
amie  alone,  but  confirmed  the  general  impression  that 
we  would  be  speedily  ordered  in  to  the  line  of  the 
North  Platte,  to  march  by  wray  of  Fetterman  to  Crook's 
support.  On  Wednesday,  the  12th,  our  move  began, 
no  orders  having  been  received  until  the  night  before. 
Just  what  we  were  to  do,  probably  no  one  knew  but 
Merritt ;  he  didn't  tell,  and  I  never  asked  questions. 
Evening  found  us  camping  near  the  Cardinal's  Chair 
at  the  head  of  the  Niobrara,  in  a  furious  storm  of 
thunder,  lightning,  and  rain,  which  lasted  all  night, 
and,  wet  to  the  skin,  we  were  glad  enough  to  march 
off  at  daybreak  on  the  13th,  and  still  more  glad  to 
camp  again  that  evening  under  the  lee  of  friendly 
old  Rawhide  Peak. 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH   CKOOK.  25 

We  were  now  just  one  long  day's  march  from 
Fort  Laramie,  and  confidently  expected  to  make  it 
on  the  following  day.  At  reveille  on  the  14th,  how- 
ever, a  rumor  ran  through  the  camp  that  Merritt 
had  received  despatches  during  the  night  indicating 
that  there  was  a  grand  outbreak  among  the  Indians 
at  the  reservation.  Of  course  we  knew  that  they 
would  be  vastly  excited  and  encouraged  by  the  in- 
telligence of  the  Ouster  massacre.  Furthermore,  it 
was  well  known  that  there  were  nearly  a  thousand 
of  the  Cheyennes,  the  finest  warriors  and  horsemen 
of  the  plains,  who  as  yet  remained  peaceably  at  the 
Red  Cloud  or  Spotted  Tail  Reservations  along  the 
White  River,  but  they  were  eager  for  a  pretext  on 
which  to  "jump,"  and  now  they  might  be  expected 
to  leave  in  a  body  at  any  moment  and  take  to  the 
war-path.  Our  withdrawal  from  the  Cheyenne  River 
left  the  favorite  route  again  open,  and  the  road  to  the 
Black  Hills  was  again  traversed  by  trains  of  wagons 
and  large  parties  of  whites  on  their  way  to  the  mines, 
a  sight  too  tempting  for  their  covetous  eyes.  Major 
Jordan,  commanding  the  post  of  Camp  Robinson,  had 
hurriedly  described  the  situation  in  a  despatch  to 
Merritt,  and  when  "  Boots  and  saddles  "  sounded,  and 
we  rode  into  line,  we  saw  the  quartermaster  guiding 
his  wagons  back  over  the  ridge  we  had  crossed  the 
day  before,  and  in  a  few  minutes  were  following  in 
their  tracks.  Away  to  the  east  we  marched  that  morn- 
ing, and  at  noon  were  halted  where  the  road  connect- 
ing Fort  Laramie  with  the  reservation  crossed  the 
Rawhide  Creek.  Here  Captain  Adam  with  Company 


26  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 

"  C  "  left  us  and  pushed  forward  to  the  Niobrara  Cross- 
ing, twenty-five  miles  nearer  the  Indian  villages,  while 
the  indefatigable  Major  Stanton,  "our  polemical  pay- 
master," was  hurried  off  to  Red  Cloud,  to  look  into 
the  situation.  The  rest  of  us  waited  further  develop- 
ments. 

On  Saturday,  the  15th  of  July,  just  at  noon,  General 
Merritt  received  the  despatch  from  the  Red  Cloud 
Agency  which  decided  the  subsequent  movement  of 
his  command.  It  led  to  his  first  "lightning  march" 
with  his  new  regiment ;  it  impelled  him  to  a  move  at 
once  bold  and  brilliant.  It  brought  about  an  utter 
rout  and  discomfiture  among  the  would-be  allies  of 
Sitting  Bull,  and,  while  it  won  him  the  commendation 
of  the  lieutenant-general,  it  delayed  us  a  week  in 
finally  reaching  Crook,  and  there  was  some  implied 
criticism  in  remarks  afterwards  made. 

In  a  mere  narrative  article  there  is  little  scope  for 
argument.  Merritt's  information  was  from  Major 
Stanton,  substantially  to  the  effect  that  eight  hundred 
Cheyenne  warriors  would  leave  the  reservation  on 
Sunday  morning,  fully  equipped  for  the  war-path,  and 
with  the  avowed  intention  of  joining  the  hostiles  in 
the  Big  Horn  country.  To  continue  on  his  march  to 
Laramie,  and  let  them  go,  would  have  been  gross,  if 
not  criminal,  neglect.  To  follow  by  the  direct  road 
to  the  reservation,  sixty-five  miles  away,  would  have 
been  simply  to  drive  them  out  and  hasten  their  move. 
Manifestly  there  was  but  one  thing  to  be  done :  to 
throw  himself  across  their  path  and  capture  or  drive 
them  back,  and  to  do  this  he  must,  relatively  speak- 


CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK.  27 

ing,  march  over  three  sides  of  a  square  while  they 
were  traversing  the  fourth,  and  must  do  it  undiscov- 
ered. 

If  Merritt  hesitated  ten  minutes,  his  most  intimate 
associates,  his  staff,  did  not  know  it.  Leaving  a  small 
guard  with  the  wagon  train,  and  ordering  Lieutenant 
Hall  to  catch  up  with  us  at  night,  the  general  and 
seven  companies  swing  into  saddle,  and  at  one  o'clock 
are  marching  up  the  Rawhide,  away  from  the  reser- 
vation, and  with  no  apparent  purpose  of  interfering 
in  any  project,  howsoever  diabolical,  that  aboriginal 
fancy  can  suggest.  We  halt  a  brief  half-hour  under 
the  Peak,  fourteen  miles  away,  water  our  thirsty  horses 
in  the  clear,  running  stream,  then  remount,  and,  fol- 
lowing our  chief,  lead  away  northwestward.  By  five 
P.M.  we  are  heading  square  to  the  north ;  at  sunset 
we  are  descending  into  the  wide  valley  of  the  Nio- 
brara,  and  just  at  ten  P.M.  we  halt  and  unsaddle  under 
the  tall  buttes  of  the  Running  Water,  close  by  our 
old  camp  at  Cardinal's  Chair.  Only  thirty-five  miles 
by  the  way  we  came,  but  horses  must  eat  to  live,  and 
we  have  nothing  but  the  buffalo  grass  to  offer  them. 
We  post  strong  guards  and  pickets  to  prevent  sur- 
prise, and  scatter  our  horses  well  out  over  the  hill- 
sides to  pick  up  all  they  can.  Captain  Hayes  and  I 
are  detailed  as  officers  of  the  guard  and  pickets  for 
the  night,  and  take  ourselves  off  accordingly.  At  mid- 
night, Lieutenant  Hall  arrives  with  his  long  wagon 
train.  At  three  A.M.,  in  the  starlight,  Merritt  arouses 
his  men;  coffee  and  bacon  are  hurriedly  served;  the 
horses  get  a  good  breakfast  of  oats  from  the  wagons, 


28  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CEO  OK. 

and  at  five  A.M.  we  are  climbing  out  of  the  valley  to 
the  north.  And  now,  Messieurs  les  Cheyennes,  we'll 
see  who  first  will  bivouac  to-night  upon  the  War  Bon- 
net. You  are  but  twenty -eight  miles  from  it;  we 
are  fifty  to  the  point  where  your  great  trail  crosses 
the  little  stream.  The  Sioux,  in  their  picturesque  no- 
menclature, called  it  after  the  gorgeous  headpiece  of 
bead-work,  plume  and  eagles'  feathers,  they  wear  in 
battle,  the  prized  War  Bonnet.  The  frontiersman, 
scorning  the  poetic,  considers  that  he  has  fittingly, 
practically,  anyway,  translated  it  into  Hat  Creek,  and 
even  for  such  a  name  as  this,  three  insignificant  creeks 
within  a  few  miles  of  one  another  claim  precedence — 
and  Indian  and  Horsehead  creeks  are  placidly  willing 
to  share  it  with  them. 

The  sun  rises  over  the  broad  lands  of  the  Sioux  to 
the  eastward  as  we  leave  the  shadowy  Niobrara  be- 
hind. Merritt's  swift  -  stepping  gray  at  the  head  of 
the  column  keeps  us  on  our  mettle  to  save  our  dis- 
tance, and  the  horses  answer  gamely  to  the  pressing 
knees  of  their  riders.  At  10.15  we  sight  the  pali- 
sade fortifications  of  the  infantry  company  which 
guards  the  spring  at  the  head  of  old  Sage  Creek,  and 
Lieutenant  Taylor  eagerly  welcomes  us.  Here,  offi- 
cers, men,  and  horses  take  a  hurried  but  substantial 
lunch.  We  open  fresh  boxes  of  ammunition,  and 
cram  belts  and  pockets  until  every  man  is  loaded 
like  a  deep-sea  diver,  and  fairly  bristles  with  deadly 
missiles.  Then  on  we  go.  East -northeast  over  the 
rolling,  treeless  prairie,  and  far  to  our  right  and  rear 
runs  the  high,  rock -faced  ridge  that  shuts  out  the 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK.  29 

cold  north  winds  from  the  reservation.  The  day  is 
hot ;  we  are  following  the  Black  Hills  road,  and  the 
dust  rises  in  heavy  clouds  above  us.  But  'tis  a 
long,  long  way  to  the  Indian  crossing,  and  we  must 
be  the  first  to  reach  it.  At  sunset  a  winding  belt 
of  green  in  a  distant  depression  marks  the  presence 
of  a  stream.  At  eight  r.M.,  silently  under  the  stars, 
we  glide  in  among  the  timbers.  At  nine  the  seven  com- 
panies are  unsaddled  and  in  bivouac  close  under  the 
bluffs,  where  a  little  plateau,  around  which  the  creek 
sweeps  in  almost  complete  circle,  forms  excellent 
defensive  lair,  secure  against  surprise.  We  have 
marched  eighty -five  miles  in  thirty -one  hours,  and 
here  we  are,  square  in  their  front,  ready  and  eager 
to  dispute  with  the  Cheyennes  their  crossing  on  the 
morrow. 

No  fires  are  lighted,  except  a  few  tiny  blazes  in 
deep -dug  holes,  whence  no  betraying  flame  may 
escape.  Horses  and  men,  we  bivouac  in  a  great  cir- 
cle along  the  steep  banks  of  a  sluggish  stream.  The 
stars  shine  brightly  overhead,  but  in  the  timber  the 
darkness  is  intense.  Mason,  my  captain,  and  I  are 
just  unstrapping  our  blankets  and  preparing  for  a 
nap,  when  Lieutenant  Forbush,  then  adjutant  of  the 
regiment,  stumbles  over  a  fallen  tree,  and  announces 
that  Company  "  K  "  is  detailed  for  guard  and  picket. 
I  had  "  been  on "  all  the  night  before  with  Captain 
Hayes,  and  would  gladly  have  had  a  sound  sleep  be- 
fore the  morrow's  work  ;  but  when  Mason,  after  re- 
porting for  orders  to  General  Merritt,  comes  back 
and  tells  me  that  I  am  to  have  command  of  the  out- 


30  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 

posts  to  the  southeast,  the  direction  from  which  the 
foe  must  come,  there  is  compensation  in  the  supposed 
mistake  in  the  roster. 

We  grope  out  in  the  darkness,  and  post  our  pick- 
ets in  hollows  and  depressions,  where,  should  the  biv- 
ouac be  approached  over  the  distant  ridges,  they  can 
best  observe  objects  against  the  sky.  The  men  are 
tired  ;  and,  as  they  cannot  walk  post  and  keep  awake, 
the  utmost  vigilance  is  enjoined  on  non-commissioned 
officers.  Hour  after  hour  I  prowl  around  among  the 
sentries,  giving  prompt  answer  to  the  muffled  chal- 
lenge that  greets  me  with  unvarying  watchfulness. 
At  one  o'clock  Colonel  Mason  and  I,  making  the 
rounds  together,  come  suddenly  upon  a  post  down 
among  the  willows  next  the  stream,  and  are  not 
halted  ;  but  we  find  the  sentinel  squatting  under  the 
bank,  only  visible  in  the  starlight,  apparently  dozing. 
Stealing  upon  him  from  behind,  I  seize  his  carbine, 
and  the  man  springs  to  his  feet.  Mason  sternly  re- 
bukes him  for  his  negligence,  and  is  disposed  to  or- 
der him  under  guard  ;  but  old  Sergeant  Schreiber, 
who  was  never  known  to  neglect  a  duty  in  his  life, 
declares  that  he  and  the  sentry  were  in  conversa- 
tion, and  watching  together  some  object  across  the 
stream  not  half  a  minute  before  we  came  upon  them. 
Everywhere  else  along  our  front  we  find  the  men 
alert  and  watchful.  At  three  o'clock  the  morning 
grows  chilly,  and  the  yelping  of  the  coyotes  out  over 
the  prairie  is  incessant.  My  orders  are  to  call  the 
General  at  half -past  three;  and,  making  my  way 
through  the  slumbering  groups,  I  find  him  rolled  in 


CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK.  31 

his  blanket  at  the  foot  of  a  big  cottonwood,  sleeping 
"  with  one  eye  open,"  for  he  is  wide  awake  in  an  in- 
stant, and  I  return  to  my  outpost  towards  the  south- 
east. 

Outlined  against  the  southern  sky  is  a  high  ridge, 
some  two  miles  away.  It  sweeps  around  from  our 
left  front,  where  it  is  lost  among  the  undulations  of 
the  prairie.  Square  to  the  northeast,  some  twenty 
miles  distant,  the  southernmost  masses  of  the  Black 
Hills  are  tumbled  up  in  sharp  relief  against  the  dawn. 
A  faint  blush  is  stealing  along  the  Orient  ;  the  ridge 
line  grows  darker  against  the  brightening  sky  ;  stars 
overhead  are  paling,  and  the  boughs  of  the  cotton  woods 
murmur  soft  response  to  the  stir  of  the  morning 
breeze.  Objects  near  at  hand  no  longer  baffle  our 
tired  eyes,  and  the  faces  of  my  comrades  of  the 
guard  look  drawn  and  wan  in  the  cold  light.  We  are 
huddled  along  a  slope  which  did  well  enough  for  night 
watching  ;  but,  as  the  lay  of  the  land  becomes  more 
distinct,  we  discern,  four  hundred  yards  farther  out  to 
the  southeast,  a  little  conical  mound  rising  from  a 
wave  of  prairie  parallel  to  our  front  but  shutting 
off  all  sight  of  objects  between  it  and  the  distant 
range  of  heights,  so  I  move  my  outpost  quickly  to 
the  new  position,  and  there  we  find  unobstructed 
view. 

To  our  rear  is  the  line  of  bluffs  that  marks  the  tor- 
tuous course  of  the  stream,  and  the  timber  itself  is 
now  becoming  mistily  visible  in  the  morning  light. 
A  faint  wreath  of  fog  creeps  up  from  the  stagnant 
water  where  busy  beavers  have  checked  its  flow, 


32  CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CKOOK. 

and  from  the  southward  not  even  an  Indian  eye 
could  tell  that  close  under  those  bluffs  seven  compa- 
nies of  veteran  cavalry  are  crouching,  ready  for  a 
spring. 

Turning  to  the  front  again,  I  bring  my  glasses  to 
bear  on  the  distant  ridge,  and  sweep  its  face  in  search 
of  moving  objects.  Off  to  the  right  I  can  mark  the 
trail  down  which  we  came  the  night  before,  but  not  a 
soul  is  stirring.  At  half-past  four  our  horses,  saddled 
and  bridled,  are  cropping  the  bunches  of  buffalo 
grass  in  the  "  swale  "  behind  us  ;  the  four  men  of  the 
picket  are  lying  among  them,  lariat  in  hand.  Corpo- 
ral Wilkinson  and  I,  prone  upon  the  hill- top,  are  ea- 
gerly scanning  the  front,  when  he  points  quickly  to 
the  now  plainly  lighted  ridge,  exclaiming  : 

"  Look,  lieutenant — there  are  Indians  !" 

Another  minute,  and  two  miles  away  we  sight  an- 
other group  of  five  or  six  mounted  warriors.  In  ten 
minutes  we  have  seen  half  a  dozen  different  parties 
popping  up  into  plain  sight,  then  rapidly  scurrying 
back  out  of  view.  At  five  o'clock  they  have  ap- 
peared all  along  our  front  for  a  distance  of  three 
miles,  but  they  do  not  approach  nearer.  Their  move- 
ments puzzle  me.  We  do  not  believe  they  have  seen 
us.  They  make  no  attempt  at  concealment  from  our 
side,  but  they  keep  peering  over  ridges  towards  the 
west,  and  dodging  behind  slopes  that  hide  them  from 
that  direction. 

General  Merritt  has  been  promptly  notified  of  their 
appearance,  and  at  5.15  he  and  General  Carr  and 
two  or  three  of  the  staff  ride  out  under  cover  of  our 


CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK.  33 

position,  and,  dismounting,  crawl  up  beside  us  and  level 
their  glasses. 

"  What  can  they  be  after  ?  What  are  they  watch- 
ing?" is  the  question.  The  Black  Hills  road  is  off 
there  somewhere,  but  no  travel  is  possible  just  now, 
and  all  trains  are  warned  back  at  Taylor's  camp.  At 
half-past  five  the  mystery  is  solved.  Four  miles  away 
to  the  southwest,  to  our  right  front,  the  white  covers 
of  army  wagons  break  upon  our  astonished  view.  It 
must  be  our  indefatigable  Quartermaster  Hall  with 
our  train,  and  he  has  been  marching  all  night  to  reach 
us.  He  is  guarded  by  two  companies  of  stalwart  in- 
fantry, but  they  are  invisible.  He  has  stowed  them 
away  in  wagons,  and  is  probably  only  afraid  that  the 
Indians  won't  attack  him.  Wagon  after  wagon,  the 
white  covers  come  gleaming  into  sight  far  over  the 
rolling  prairie,  and  by  this  time  the  ridge  is  swarm- 
ing with  war -parties  of  Cheyennes.  Here  you  are, 
beggarly,  treacherous  rascals  ;  for  years  you  have 
eaten  of  our  bread,  lived  on  our  bounty.  You  are 
well  fed,  well  cared  for  ;  you,  your  pappooses  and  po- 
nies are  fat  and  independent ;  but  you  have  heard  of 
the  grand  revel  in  blood,  scalps,  and  trophies  of  your 
brethren,  the  Sioux.  It  is  no  fight  of  yours.  You  have 
no  grievance,  but  the  love  of  rapine  and  warfare  is 
the  ruling  passion,  and  you  must  take  a  hand  against 
the  Great  Father,  whom  your  treaty  binds  you  to 
obey  and  honor.  And  now  you  have  stuffed  your  wal- 
lets with  his  rations,  your  pouches  with  heavy  loads 
of  his  best  metallic  cartridges,  all  too  confidingly  sup- 
plied you  by  peace-loving  agents,  who  (for  a  consid- 
3 


34  CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CEO  OK. 

eration)  wouldn't  suspect  you  of  warlike  designs  for 
any  consideration.  You  are  only  a  day's  march  from 
the  reservation  ;  and  here,  you  think,  are  your  first 
rich  victims — a  big  train  going  to  the  Black  Hills  un- 
guarded. No  wonder  you  circle  your  swift  ponies  to 
the  left  in  eager  signals  to  your  belated  brethren  to 
come  on,  come  on.  In  half  ^an  hour  you'll  have  five 
hundred  here,  and  the  fate  of  those  teamsters  and 
that  train  is  sealed. 

"  Have  the  men  had  coffee  ?"  asks  General  Merritt, 
after  a  leisurely  survey.  "Yes,  sir,"  is  the  adjutant's 
report.  "  Then  let  them  saddle  up  and  close  in  mass 
under  the  bluffs,"  is  the  order,  and  General  Carr  goes 
off  to  execute  it. 

The  little  hill  on  which  we  are  lying  is  steep,  al- 
most precipitous  on  its  southern  slope,  washed  away 
apparently  by  the  torrent  that  in  the  rainy  season 
must  come  tearing  down  the  long  ravine  directly 
ahead  of  us  ;  it  leads  down  from  the  distant  ridge 
and  sweeps  past  us  to  our  right,  where  it  is  crossed 
by  the  very  trail  on  which  we  marched  in,  and  along 
which,  three  miles  away,  the  wagon  train  is  now  ap- 
proaching. The  two  come  together  like  a  V,  and  we 
are  at  its  point,  while  between  them  juts  out  a  long 
spur  of  hills.  The  trail  cannot  be  seen  from  the  ra- 
vine, and  vice  versa,  while  we  on  our  point  see  both. 
At  the  head  of  the  ravine,  a  mile  and  a  half  away, 
a  party  of  thirty  or  forty  Indians  are  scurrying 
about  in  eager  and  excited  motion.  "What  in  thun- 
der are  those  vagabonds  fooling  about  ?"  says  Buffalo 
Bill,  who  has  joined  us  with  Tait  and  Chips,  two  of 


CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK.  35 

his  pet  assistants.  Even  while  we  speculate  the  answer 
is  plain.  Riding  towards  us,  away  ahead  of  the  wagon 
train,  two  soldiers  come  loping  along  the  trail.  They 
bring  despatches  to  the  command,  no  doubt,  and,  know- 
ing us  to  be  down  here  in  the  bottom  somewhere,  have 
started  ahead  to  reach  us.  They  see  no  Indians  ;  for 
it  is  only  from  them  and  the  train  the  wily  foe  is  con- 
cealed, and  all  unsuspicious  of  their  danger  they  come 
jauntily  ahead.  Now  is  the  valiant  red  man's  oppor- 
tunity. Come  on,  Brothers  Swift  Bear,  Two  Bulls, 
Bloody  Hand  ;  come  on,  ten  or  a  dozen  of  you,  my 
braves — there  are  only  two  of  the  pale-faced  dogs, 
and  they  shall  feel  the  red  man's  vengeance  forthwith. 
Come  on,  come  on  !  We'll  dash  down  this  ravine,  a 
dozen  of  us,  and  six  to  one  we'll  slay  and  scalp  them 
without  danger  to  ourselves  ;  and  a  hundred  to  one 
we  will  brag  about  it  the  rest  of  our  natural  lives. 
Only  a  mile  away  come  our  couriers  ;  only  a  mile  and 
a  half  up  the  ravine  a  murderous  party  of  Cheyennes 
lash  their  excited  ponies  into  eager  gallop,  and  down 
they  come  towards  us. 

"  By  Jove  !  general,"  says  Buffalo  Bill,  sliding 
backwards  down  the  hill,  "  now's  our  chance.  Let  our 
party  mount  here  out  of  sight,  and  we'll  cut  those  fel- 
lows off." 

"  Up  with  you,  then  !"  is  the  answer.  "  Stay  where 
you  are,  King.  Watch  them  till  they  are  close  un- 
der you  ;  then  give  the  word.  Come  down,  every 
other  man  of  you !" 

I  am  alone  on  the  little  mound.  Glancing  behind 
me,  I  see  Cody,  Tait,  and  Chips,  with  five  cavalry- 


36  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 

men,  eagerly  bending  forward  in  their  saddles,  grasp- 
ing carbine  and  rifle,  every  eye  bent  upon  me  in 
breathless  silence,  watching  for  the  signal.  Gen- 
eral Merritt  and  Lieutenants  Forbush  and  Pardee  are 
crouching  below  me.  Sergeant  Schreiber  and  Corpo- 
ral Wilkinson,  on  all  -  fours,  are  half  -  way  down  the 
northern  slope.  Not  a  horse  or  man  of  us  visible  to 
the  Indians.  Only  my  hatless  head  and  the  double 
field-glass  peer  over  the  grassy  mound.  Half  a  mile 
away  are  our  couriers,  now  rapidly  approaching. 
Now,  my  Indian  friends,  what  of  you  ?  Oh,  what  a 
stirring  picture  you  make  as  once  more  I  fix  my 
glasses  on  you  !  Here,  nearly  four  years  after,  my 
pulses  bound  as  I  recall  the  sight.  Savage  warfare 
was  never  more  beautiful  than  in  you.  On  you  come, 
your  swift,  agile  ponies  springing  down  the  winding 
ravine,  the  rising  sun  gleaming  on  your  trailing  war 
bonnets,  on  silver  armlets,  necklace,  gorget  ;  on  brill- 
iant painted  shield  and  beaded  legging ;  on  naked 
body  and  beardless  face,  stained  most  vivid  vermil- 
ion. On  you  come,  lance  and  rifle,  pennon  and 
feather  glistening  in  the  rare  morning  light,  swaying 
in  the  wild  grace  of  your  peerless  horsemanship  ; 
nearer,  till  I  mark  the  very  ornament  on  your  lead- 
er's shield.  And  on,  too,  all  unsuspecting,  come  your 
helpless  prey.  I  hold  vengeance  in  my  hand,  but  not 
yet  to  let  it  go.  Five  seconds  too  soon,  and  you  can 
wheel  about  and  escape  us  ;  one  second  too  late,  and 
my  blue-coated  couriers  are  dead  men.  On  you  come, 
savage,  hungry -eyed,  merciless.  Two  miles  behind 
you  are  your  scores  of  friends,  eagerly,  applaudingly 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH   CROOK.  37 

watching  your  exploit.  But  five  hundred  yards  ahead 
of  you,  coolly,  vengefully  awaiting  you  are  your  un- 
seen foes,  beating  you  at  your  own  game,  and  you  are 
running  slap  into  them.  Nearer  and  nearer  —  your 
leader,  a  gorgeous  -  looking  fellow,  on  a  bounding 
gray,  signals  "Close  and  follow."  Three  hundred 
yards  more,  my  buck,  and  (you  fancy)  your  gleaming 
knives  will  tear  the  scalps  of  our  couriers.  Twenty 
seconds,  and  you  will  dash  round  that  point  with  your 
war-whoop  ringing  in  their  ears.  Ha  !  Lances,  is  it  ? 
You  don't  want  your  shots  heard  back  at  the  train. 
What  will  you  think  of  ours  ?  All  ready,  general  ?" 

"All  ready,  King.  Give  the  word  when  you 
like." 

"  Not  a  man  but  myself  knows  how  near  they  are. 
Two  hundred  yards  now,  and  I  can  hear  the  panting 
of  their  wiry  steeds.  A  hundred  and  fifty  !  That's 
right — close  in,  you  beggars  !  Ten  seconds  more  and 
you  are  on  them  !  A  hundred  and  twenty-five  yards — 
a  hundred — ninety — 

"  Now,  lads,  in  with  you  !" 

Crash  go  the  hoofs  !  There's  a  rush,  a  wild,  ring- 
ing cheer  ;  then  bang,  bang,  bang  !  and  in  a  cloud  of 
dust  Cody  and  his  men  tumble  in  among  them.  Gen- 
eral Merritt  springs  up  to  my  side,  Corporal  Wilkin- 
son to  his.  Cool  as  a  cucumber,  the  Indian  leader 
reins  in  his  pony  in  sweeping  circle  to  the  left,  ducks 
on  his  neck  as  Wilkinson's  bullet  whistles  by  his 
head  ;  then  under  his  pony,  and  his  return  shot 
azips"  close  by  the  general's  cheek.  Then  comes 
the  cry,  uLook  to  the  front ;  look,  look !"  and,  swarm- 


38  CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK. 

ing  down  the  ridge  as  far  as  we  can  see,  come  dozens 
of  Indian  warriors  at  top  speed  to  the  rescue.  "  Send 
up  the  first  company  !"  is  Merritt's  order  as  he  springs 
into  saddle,  and,  followed  by  his  adjutant,  rides  off  to 
the  left  and  front.  I  jump  for  my  horse,  and  the 
vagabond,  excited  by  the  shots  and  rush  around  us, 
plunges  at  his  lariat  and  breaks  to  the  left.  As  I 
catch  him,  I  see  Buffalo  Bill  closing  on  a  superbly  ac- 
coutred warrior.  It  is  the  work  of  a  minute  ;  the  Ind- 
ian has  fired  and  missed.  Cody's  bullet  tears  through 
the  rider's  leg,  into  his  pony's  heart,  and  they  tumble 
in  confused  heap  on  the  prairie.  The  Cheyenne  strug- 
gles to  his  feet  for  another  shot,  but  Cody's  second 
bullet  crashes  through  his  brain,  and  the  young  chief, 
Yellow  Hand,  drops  lifeless  in  his  tracks. 

Here  comes  my  company,  "K,"  trotting  up  from 
the  bluffs,  Colonel  Mason  at  their  head,  and  I  take  my 
place  in  front  of  my  platoon,  as,  sweeping  over  the 
ridge,  the  field  lies  before  us.  Directly  in  front,  a 
mile  away,  the  redskins  are  rushing  down  to  join  their 
comrades  ;  and  their  triumphant  yells  change  to  cries 
of  warning  as  Company  "  K's  "  blue  line  shoots  up  over 
the  divide. 

"Drive  them,  Mason,  but  look  out  for  the  main 
ridge,"  is  the  only  order  we  hear  ;  and,  without 
a  word,  shout,  or  shot,  "K"  goes  squarely  at  the 
foe.  They  fire  wildly,  wheeling  about  and  backing 
off  towards  the  hills  ;  but  our  men  waste  no  shot, 
and  we  speed  up  the  slope,  spreading  out  uncon- 
sciously in  open  order  to  right  and  left.  Their  bul- 
lets whistle  harmlessly  over  our  heads,  and  some  of 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH   CKOOK.  39 

our  young  men  are  eagerly  looking  for  permission  to 
begin.  Now  the  pursued  have  opened  fire  from  both 
our  flanks,  for  we  have  spread  them  open  in  our  rush  ; 
and,  glancing  over  my  shoulder,  it  is  glorious  to  see 
Montgomery's  beautiful  grays  sweeping  to  our  right 
and  rear,  while  Kellogg's  men  are  coming  "  front  into 
line"  at  the  gallop  on  our  left.  We  gain  the  crest 
only  to  find  the  Indians  scattering  like  chaff  before 
us,  utterly  confounded  at  their  unexpected  encounter. 
Then  comes  the  pursuit — a  lively  gallop  over  rolling 
prairie,  the  Indians  dropping  blankets,  rations,  every- 
thing weighty  they  could  spare  except  their  guns  and 
ammunition.  Right  and  left,  far  and  near,  they  scat- 
ter into  small  bands,  and  go  tearing  homeward.  Once 
within  the  limits  of  the  reservation  they  are  safe, 
and  we  strain  every  nerve  to  catch  them ;  but  when 
the  sun  is  high  in  the  heavens  and  noon  has  come,  the 
Cheyennes  are  back  under  the  sheltering  wing  of 
the  Indian  Bureau,  and  not  one  of  them  can  we  lay 
hands  on. 

Baffled  and  astounded,  for  once  in  a  lifetime  beaten 
at  their  own  game,  their  project  of  joining  Sitting 
Bull  nipped  in  the  bud,  they  mourn  the  loss  of  three 
of  their  best  braves  slain  in  sudden  attack,  and  of  all 
their  provender  and  supplies  lost  in  hurried  flight. 
Weary  enough  we  reach  the  agency  building  at  seven 
that  evening,  disappointed  at  having  bagged  no  great- 
er game ;  but  our  chief  is  satisfied.  Buffalo  Bill  is 
radiant ;  his  are  the  honors  of  the  day  ;  and  the  Fifth 
generally  goes  to  sleep  on  the  ground,  well  content 
with  the  affair  on  the  War  Bonnet. 


40  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   MARCH   TO  THE   BIG  HORN. 

CHASING  the  Cheyennes  from  the  War  Bonnet  and 
Indian  Creek  to  the  reservation,  our  seven  companies 
had  struck  cross  country,  and  until  we  neared  the  high 
bluffs  and  ridges  to  the  north  of  the  agency,  it  was 
not  difficult  for  the  wagons  to  follow  us;  but  it  was 
generally  predicted  that  Lieutenant  Hall  would  never 
be  able  to  get  his  train  over  the  ravines  and  "breaks" 
which  he  would  encounter  on  the  18th,  and  the  com- 
mand was  congratulating  itself  on  the  prospect  of  a 
day's  rest  at  Red  Cloud,  when  at  noon,  to  our  utter 
astonishment,  the  wagons  hove  in  sight.  We  had 
fasted  since  our  four-o'clock  breakfast  on  the  previous 
morning  —  were  hungrily  eying  the  Indian  supplies 
in  their  plethoric  storehouses,  and  were  just  about  ne- 
gotiating with  the  infantry  men  of  Camp  Robinson 
for  the  loan  of  rations  and  the  wherewithal  to  cook 
the  same,  when  Hall  rode  in,  nonchalant  as  usual,  and 
parked  his  train  of  supplies  amid  shouts  of  welcome. 
General  Merritt  was  unfeignedly  glad  to  see  his  quar- 
termaster ;  he  had  received  his  orders  to  hasten  in  to 
Fort  Laramie  and  proceed  to  the  reinforcement  of 
General  Crook,  and  every  moment  was  precious.  We 
were  allowed  just  two  hours  to  prepare  and  partake 


CAMPAIGNING    WITH   CROOK.  41 

of  an  ample  dinner,  pack  our  traps  and  store  them  in 
the  wagons  again,  when  "  Boots  and  saddles "  was 
echoed  back  from  the  white  crags  of  Dancer's  Hill 
and  Crow  Butte,  and  at  2.30  we  were  winding  up  the 
beautiful  valley  of  the  White  River.  Lieutenant 
Hall  was  left  with  his  train  to  give  his  teams  and 
teamsters  a  needed  rest,  and  ordered  to  follow  us  at 
early  evening. 

All  the  morning  the  reservation  Indians  had  come 
in  flocks  to  have  a  look  at  the  soldiers  who  had  out- 
witted them  on  the  previous  day.  Arrapahoe  and 
Ogalalla,  Minneconjou  and  Uncapapa,  represented  by 
dozens  of  old  chiefs  and  groups  of  curious  and  laugh- 
ing squaws,  hung  about  us  for  hours  —  occasionally 
asking  questions  and  invariably  professing  a  readiness 
to  accept  any  trifle  we  might  feel  disposed  to  part 
with.  To  beg  is  the  one  thing  of  which  an  Indian 
is  never  ashamed.  In  Arizona  I  have  known  a  lot  of 
Apaches  to  hang  around  camp  for  an  entire  day,  and 
when  they  had  coaxed  us  out  of  our  last  plug  of  to- 
bacco, our  only  remaining  match,  and  our  old  clothes, 
instead  of  going  home  satisfied  they  would  turn  to 
with  reviving  energy  and  beg  for  the  things  of  all 
others  for  which  they  had  not  the  faintest  use — soap 
and  writing-paper. 

In  addition  to  all  the  "  squaw  men  "  and  "  blanket 
Indians"  at  the  reservation,  there  came  to  see  us  that 
day  quite  a  number  of  Cheyennes,  our  antagonists  of 
the  day  before.  Shrouded  in  their  dark-blue  blankets 
and  washed  clean  of  their  lurid  war-paint,  they  were 
by  no  means  imposing.  One  and  all  they  wanted  to 


42  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CKOOK. 

sec  Buffalo  Bill,  and  wherever  he  moved  they  followed 
him  with  awe-filled  eyes.  He  wore  the  same  dress  in 
which  he  had  burst  upon  them  in  yesterday's  fight,  a 
Mexican  costume  of  black  velvet,  slashed  with  scar- 
let and  trimmed  with  silver  buttons  and  lace — one  of 
his  theatrical  garbs,  in  which  he  had  done  much  exe- 
cution before  the  footlights  in  the  States,  and  which 
now  became  of  intensified  value.  Bill  had  carefully 
preserved  the  beautiful  war  bonnet,  shield  and  deco- 
rations, as  well  as  the  arms  of  the  young  chieftain 
Yellow  Hand,  whom  he  had  slain  in  single  combat, 
and  that  winter  ('76  and  '77)  was  probably  the  most 
profitable  of  his  theatrical  career.  The  incidents  of 
the  fight  of  the  17th  and  the  death  of  Yellow  Hand 
were  dramatized  for  him,  and  presented  one  of  the 
most  telling  of  the  plays  in  which  he  starred  all 
over  the  East  that  season.  He  realized  above  all  ex- 
penses some  $13,000  on  that  one  alone,  and  I  fancy 
that  some  of  your  readers  in.'iy  have  seen  it.  For  a 
time  it  was  his  custom  to  display  the  trophies  of  that 
fight  in  some  prominent  show-window  during  the  day, 
and  take  them  away  only  in  time  for  the  performance 
at  night.  As  an  advertisement  it  drew  largely  in  the 
West,  but  when  Bill  reached  the  refinements  of  tho 
Middle  States  and  the  culture  of  New  England  ho 
encountered  a  storm  of  abuse  from  the  press  and  the; 
clergy  which,  while  it  induced  him  to  withdraw  "the 
blood-stained  trophies  of  his  murderous  and  cowardly 
deeds  "  from  the  show-windows,  so  stimulated  public 
curiosity  as  to  materially  augment  his  receipts. 

It  is  in  New  England,  the  land  of  the  Pequots  and 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK.  43 

the  Iroquois,  that  the  most  violent  partisans  of  the 
peace  policy  are  to  be  found  to-day.  There  is  method 
in  their  cultured  mania,  for  the  farther  removed  the 
citizen  finds  himself  from  the  Indian  the  better  he 
likes  him.  Year  after  year,  with  the  westward  march 
of  civilization,  the  Indian  has  found  himself,  in  the 
poetic  and  allegorical  language  ascribed  to  him  by 
Cooper  and  others  who  never  heard  him  use  it,  "thrust 
farther  towards  the  fiery  bosom  of  the  setting  sun." 
Each  state  in  turn  has  elbowed  him  on  towards  the 
Mississippi,  and  by  the  time  the  struggling  aborigine 
was  at  the  safe  distance  of  two  or  three  states  away, 
was  virtuously  ready  to  preach  fierce  denunciation  of 
the  people  who  simply  did  as  it  had  done.  It  is 
comical  to-day  to  hear  Mr.  Conger,  of  Michigan,  as- 
sailing Mr.  Belford,  of  Colorado,  because  the  latter 
considers  it  time  for  the  Utes  to  move  or  become 
amenable  to  the  laws  of  the  land ;  and  when  we  look 
back  and  remember  how  the  whole  movement  was  in- 
augurated by  the  Pilgrim  Fathers,  is  it  not  edifying 
to  read  the  Bostonian  tirades  against  the  settlers — the 
pilgrims  and  pioneers  of  the  Far  West? 

Our  march  to  Laramie  was  without  noteworthy  in- 
cident. We  reached  the  North  Platte  on  Friday  af- 
ternoon, July  21,  spent  Saturday  in  busy  preparation, 
and  early  Sunday  morning,  six  o'clock,  the  trumpets 
were  sounding  "  the  General,"  the  universal  army  sig- 
nal to  strike  your  tent  and  march  away.  The  white 
canvas  was  folded  into  the  wagons,  and  in  a  few  mo- 
ments more  the  column  of  horse  was  moving  off  on 
the  long  -  anticipated  march  to  join  General  Crook. 


44  CAMPAIGNING   WITH   CROOK. 

Captain  Egan  and  Lieutenant  Allison  of  the  Second 
Cavalry  rode  out  from  Laramie  to  wish  us  godspeed. 
By  eight  the  sun  was  scorching  our  backs  and  great 
clouds  of  dust  were  rising  under  our  horses'  feet,  and 
Laramie  was  left  behind.  Many  and  many  a  weary 
march,  many  a  week  of  privation  and  suffering,  many 
a  stirring  scene  were  we  to  encounter  before  once 
again  the  hospitable  old  frontier  fort  would  open  its 
gates  to  receive  us.  At  half-past  two  we  camped  along 
the  Platte  at  Bull  Bend,  and  had  a  refreshing  bath 
in  its  rapid  waters  ;  at  four  a  violent  storm  of  wind 
and  rain  bore  down  upon  us,  and  beat  upon  our  can- 
vas during  the  night,  but  morning  broke  all  the  bet- 
ter for  marching.  A  cold  drizzle  is  far  preferable 
to  thick  dust.  We  sped  along  briskly  to  the  "La 
Bonte,"  and  from  there  hastened  on  to  Fetterman, 
where  the  main  command  arrived  at  noon  on  the  25th, 
the  wagons  and  rear  guard,  of  which  I  was  in  charge, 
coming  in  two  hours  later,  fording  the  Platte  at  once, 
and  moving  into  camp  some  distance  up  stream. 

Fetterman  was  crowded  with  wagon  trains,  new 
horses,  recruits,  and  officers,  all  waiting  to  go  forward 
to  General  Crook,  north  of  the  Big  Horn,  and  with 
the  eight  companies  of  the  Fifth  Cavalry  as  a  nucleus, 
General  Merritt  organized  the  array  of  "  unattached  " 
into  a  disciplined  force,  brought  chaos  into  prompt 
subjection,  and  at  eight  A.M.  on  the  26th  started  the 
whole  mass  on  its  northward  march.  Among  those 
to  meet  us  here  were  our  old  Arizona  comrades,  Lieu- 
tenants Rodgers  and  Eaton,  who  had  hurried  from 
detached  service  to  catch  us,  and  there  were  some 


CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK.  45 

comical  features  in  the  reunion.  They  had  escaped 
from  Eastern  cities  but  the  week  previous,  had  made 
the  journey  by  rail  to  Cheyenne  and  Medicine  Bow, 
and  by  stage  or  ambulance  to  Fetterman,  were  fresh 
and  trim  and  neat  as  though  stepping  out  for  parade. 
We  had  been  marching  and  scouting  for  six  weeks 
through  scorching  dust  and  alkali,  and  with  untrim- 
med  beards  and  begrimed  attire  were  unrecognizable. 
Rodgers  positively  refused  to  believe  in  the  identity 
of  a  comrade  whom  he  had  met  at  a  german  at 
Fort  Hays,  but  forgot  his  scruples  when  he  received 
through  that  same  officer  the  notification  that  he  was 
promoted  to  the  command  of  Company  "A,"  its  cap- 
tain having  suddenly  concluded  to  resign  a  short  time 
before. 

Here,  too,  the  future  medical  director  of  the  expe- 
dition, Dr.  Clements,  made  his  appearance,  and  joined 
for  the  campaign,  and  two  officers  of  the  Fourth  In- 
fantry, whose  companies  were  not  included  in  General 
Crook's  field  force,  obtained  authority  to  serve  with 
the  Fifth  Cavalry.  And  among  those  who  cast  their 
lot  with  us  as  volunteers,  there  came  a  gallant  sailor,  a 
lieutenant  of  our  navy,  who,  having  leave  of  absence 
from  his  department  after  long  sea  service,  came  out 
to  spend  a  portion  thereof  in  hunting  on  the  Plains, 
just  as  his  cousin,  Lieutenant  Rodgers,  was  hastening 
to  join  his  regiment ;  and  Jack  Tar  became  a  cavalry 
man,  to  serve  for  three  months  or  the  war,  and  it 
wasn't  a  week  before  Mr.  Hunter  had  won  the  regard 
of  every  officer  and  man  in  the  Fifth,  and  the  brevet 
of  "  Commodore,"  by  which  title  he  was  universally 


46  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CEOOK. 

hailed  throughout  the  long  and  dreary  campaign  that 
followed. 

Two  more  companies  of  ours,  "  E "  and  "  F,"  had 
been  ordered  to  join  us  also,  but  we  were  in  a  hurry, 
and  they  followed  by  forced  marches.  On  the  night 
of  the  28th  we  were  encamped  in  pitchy  darkness  in 
a  narrow  valley  at  the  head-waters  of  the  North  Fork 
of  the  Mina  Pusa.  I  was  aroused  from  sleep  by  the 
voice  of  Lieutenant  Pardee,  who  was  serving  as  an 
aide-de-camp  to  General  Merritt,  and,  rolling  out  of 
my  blankets,  found  the  general  and  himself  at  our 
tent.  They  asked  if  we  had  heard  the  distant  sound 
of  cavalry  trumpets.  The  general  thought  he  had, 
and  we  all  went  out  beyond  the  post  of  the  sentinels 
upon  the  open  prairie  to  listen.  It  was  time  for  Cap- 
tains Price  and  Payne  to  reach  us  with  their  compa- 
nies, and  the  general  thought  that  in  the  thick  dark- 
ness they  had  lost  the  trail  and  were  signalling  in 
hopes  of  a  reply,  and  so  we  pricked  up  our  ears.  The 
silence  was  as  dense  as  the  darkness ;  no  sound  came 
from  the  slumbering  camp;  no  light  from  the  smoul- 
dering fire  ;  suddenly  there  floated  through  the  night 
air,  soft  and  clear,  the  faint  notes  of  the  cavalry  trump- 
et sounding  "  Officer's  Call ;"  another  minute  and  it 
was  answered  by  our  chief  trumpeter,  and,  guided  by 
the  calls,  in  half  an.  hour  our  comrades  had  joined  us, 
and  ten  companies  of  the  Fifth  Cavalry  were  camped 
together  for  the  first  time  in  years. 

From  that  night  "  Officer's  Call "  grew  to  be  the 
conventional  signal  by  which  we  of  the  Fifth  were 
wont  to  herald  our  coming  through  the  darkness  or 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH   CKOOK.  47 

distance  to  comrades  who  might  be  awaiting  us.  Last 
September,  when  the  Utes  made  their  attack  on  Major 
Thornburgh's  command,  your  readers  will  doubtless 
remember  that  after  that  gallant  soldier's  death  the 
command  of  the  besieged  battalion  devolved  upon 
Captain  Payne,  of  the  Fifth  Cavalry.  He  and  his 
company,  who  were  the  first  to  employ  the  signal, 
have  best  reason  to  remember  its  subsequent  value, 
and  I  cannot  do  better  than  to  repeat  in  his  own 
words,  my  classmate's  description  of  the  arrival  of 
General  Merritt  and  the  regiment  after  their  famous 
dash  of  two  hundred  miles  to  the  rescue.  Of  his  little 
battalion  of  three  companies,  fifty  were  lying  wound- 
ed in  the  hurriedly  constructed  rifle-pits,  he  and  his 
surgeon  were  of  the  number,  and  for  six  days  the  Ind- 
ians had  poured  in  a  pitiless  fire  whenever  hand  or 
head  became  visible.  Hoping  for  the  speedy  coming 
of  his  colonel,  Payne  tells  us  :  "  While  lying  in  the 
trenches  on  the  night  of  the  4th  of  October,  this  in- 
cident came  to  mind.  Believing  it  just  possible  for 
General  Merritt  to  reach  us  next  morning,  and  know- 
ing that,  if  possible,  come  he  would,  I  directed  one  of 
my  trumpeters  to  be  on  the  alert  for  the  expected 
signal.  And  so  it  was ;  just  as  the  first  gray  of  the 
dawn  appeared,  our  listening  ears  caught  the  sound 
of  "  Officer's  Call "  breaking  the  silence  of  the  morn- 
ing, and  filling  the  valley  with  the  sweetest  music  we 
had  ever  heard.  Joyously  the  reply  rang  out  from 
our  corral,  and  the  men  rushing  from  the  rifle-pits 
made  the  welkin  ring  with  their  glad  cheers." 

First  at  the  head-waters  of  the  Mina  Pusa,  in  July, 


48  CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK. 

'76  ;  last  in  the  valley  of  the  Milk  River.  Next?  Far 
out  in  the  canons  of  Colorado,  utterly  isolated  from 
the  world,  snowed  in,  living  we  don't  know  how,  four 
companies  of  the  Fifth  Cavalry  are  waiting  at  the 
ruins  of  the  White  River  Agency  the  result  of  all  this 
negotiation  in  Washington.  Merritt  with  the  other 
companies,  six  in  number,  is  wintering  at  Fort  Rus- 
sell, on  the  line  of  the  Union  Pacific.  More  than 
probable  is  it  that  the  earliest  spring  will  find  him  a 
second  time  making  that  two-hundred-mile  march  to 
the  Milk  River,  and  once  again  the  Rockies  will  echo 
the  stirring  strains  of  "  Officer's  Call." 

Saturday,  the  29th  of  July,  "76,  broke  like  a  morn- 
ing in  mid -Sahara.  We  marched  in  glaring  sun, 
through  miles  of  dust,  sage-brush,  and  alkali,  and  fol- 
lowed it  up  on  Sunday,  the  30th,  with  just  such  an- 
other ;  no  shade,  no  grass,  no  water  fit  to  swallow. 
We  bivouacked  along  the  Powder  River,  a  curdling 
stream  the  color  of  dirty  chalk,  and  we  gazed  with 
wistful,  burning  eyes  at  the  grand  peaks  of  the  Big 
Horn,  mantled  with  glistening  snow,  only  fifty  miles 
away.  Monday  was  another  day  of  heat,  glare,  and 
dust,  with  that  tantalizing  glory  of  ice  and  snow 
twenty  miles  nearer.  That  night  the  wind  started  in 
from  the  west,  and  blew  down  from  those  very  peaks, 
fanning  our  fevered  cheeks  like  blessed  wavelets  from 
heaven,  as  indeed  they  were.  We  were  gasping  for 
air  on  the  banks  of  Crazy  Woman's  Fork,  and  would 
have  suffocated  but  for  that  glad  relief. 

Early  next  morning  Merritt  led  us  on  again,  march- 
ing through  a  rolling  country  that  became  more  and 


CAMPAIGNING  WITH  CEO  OK.  49 

more  varied  and  interesting  with  every  mile  ;  we  were 
edging  in  closer  to  the  foot-hills  of  the  mountains. 
Several  small  herds  of  buffalo  were  sighted,  and  some 
few  officers  and  men  were  allowed  to  go  with  Cody 
in  chase.  At  one  P.M.  we  halted  on  Clear  Fork,  a 
beautiful  running  stream  deserving  of  its  name,  fresh 
from  the  snow  peaks  on  our  left ;  had  lunch  and 
rested  until  five,  when  once  more  we  saddled  up  and 
pushed  ahead ;  came  suddenly  upon  "Lake  De  Smet, 
wild  and  picturesque,  lying  like  a  mirror  in  a  deep 
basin  of  treeless  banks,  and  in  a  beautiful  open  glade, 
rich  with  abundant  green  grass  and  watered  by  a 
clear,  cold  rivulet,  we  camped  in  the  glorious  starlight, 
thanking  Heaven  we  were  out  of  the  desert,  and  at 
last  along  the  storied  range  of  the  Big  Horn. 

Wednesday,  August  2d,  dawned  bracing,  clear,  and 
beautiful.  The  glorious  sunshine  beamed  on  lofty 
crags  and  pine-covered  heights  close  at  our  left  hand, 
peered  into  dark  ravine  and  rocky  gorge,  sparkled 
on  the  swift  -  flowing  stream,  and  on  innumerable 
dew-drops  over  the  glade.  Men  and  horses  awoke  to 
new  life.  A  few  miles  ahead  lay  a  lofty  ridge,  and 
from  that,  said  our  guides,  the  valleys  of  the  Tongue 
and  its  branches,  and  the  grand  sweep  of  country  tow- 
ards the  Rosebud  on  the  north,  and  the  Big  Horn 
River  to  the  northwest,  would  be  spread  before  us 
like  a  map.  Over  that  ridge,  somewhere,  lies  Crook 
with  his  force,  expectant  of  our  coming  ;  over  that 
ridge,  beyond  him,  are  or  were  ten  thousand  rene- 
gades and  hostile  Indians,  Sioux,  and  San  Arcs, 
Cheyennes  of  the  North  (it  was  the  Southern  Chey- 
4 


50  CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CEOOK. 

ennes  we  whipped  back  on  the  War  Bonnet),  Minne- 
conjous,  Uncapapas  (Sitting  Bull's  Own),  Yankton- 
nais,  and  Brules,  all  banded  together  in  one  grand 
attempt  to  exterminate  the  white  intruders. 

How  I  envied  the  advance  that  day  the  first  glimpse 
over  that  divide  !  But  each  company  took  its  turn 
at  head  of  column  ;  and  now  that  we  were  fairly  in 
among  the  fastnesses,  where  attack  might  be  expect- 
ed at  any  moment,  two  companies  were  daily  de- 
tailed to  escort  and  guard  the  wagon  train,  and  Com- 
panies "A"  and  "K"  were  the  unfortunates  to-day. 
It  was  mean  duty.  The  road  was  not  bad,  but  it  wound 
up  and  down,  over  crests  and  through  deep  ravines. 
We  had  to  dismount  and  lend  a  helping  hand  half  the 
time.  At  seven  we  passed  the  palisaded  ruins  of  old 
Fort  Phil  Kearney,  abandoned  by  "Peace  Commis- 
sion" order  in  '68  ;  and  just  beyond  we  halted  and 
silently  surveyed  the  ridge  on  which  Captains  Fet- 
terman  and  Brown,  Lieutenant  Grummond,  and  three 
companies  of  soldiers  were  slowly  slaughtered  by  Red 
Cloud  and  his  surrounding  thousands  in  December, 
J66.  We  fancied  the  poor  women  and  Children  in 
the  fort,  listening  and  looking  on  in  dumb,  helpless 
horror;  and  then  we  thought  of  Custer  and  his  com- 
rades lying  yet  unburied  only  a  few  miles  farther 
across  that  uplifted  barrier  in  our  front,  and  then  we 
hurried  on,  eagerly  praying  that  it  might  be  our  fort- 
une to  avenge  some  of  those  sacrificed  lives  ;  toiled 
up  the  long,  long  ascent,  reached  the  lofty  crest,  and 
halted  again  in  sheer  amaze.  The  whole  landscape 
to  the  north  was  black  with  smoke.  East,  as  far  as 


CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CKOOK.  51 

the  Cheetish  (Wolf)  Mountains  ;  west,  as  far  as  the 
Little  Horn,  from  every  valley  great  masses  of  surg- 
ing, billowy  clouds  rolled  up  to  swell  the  pall  that 
overspread  the  northern  sky  and  hung  low  upon  the 
dividing  ridges  towards  the  Yellowstone.  Here  and 
there  forked  flames  shot  up  through  the  heated  veil, 
and  even  at  our  distance  we  could  almost  hear  their 
roar  and  crackle.  "  Lo  "  had  set  the  country  afire  to 
baffle  his  pursuers,  and,  knowing  of  the  coming  of 
Crook's  reinforcements,  was  now,  in  all  probability, 
scattering  over  the  continent. 

At  eleven  we  passed  an  abandoned  outpost  of  earth- 
works— thrown  up,  probably,  by  a  detached  company 
guarding  the  road.  At  two  we  overtook  Merritt  and 
the  eight  companies  resting  along  a  cool,  limpid 
stream  that  gave  promise  of  trout;  and  here  we 
camped  for  the  night,  and  listened  eagerly  to  the 
news  brought  us  by  courier  from  General  Crook. 
Scouts  were  out  hunting  for  the  Indians,  who  had 
withdrawn  their  masses  from  his  immediate  front, 
and  he  was  only  waiting  our  coming  to  launch  ,out  in 
pursuit.  We  sleep  that  night  restless  and  impatient 
of  the  delay — morning  comes  all  too  slowly — but  at 
four  o'clock  we  are  astir  and  on  the  move  to  meet 
our  brigadier,  but  couriers  report  him  coming  down 
towards  us  along  the  main  valley  of  the  Tongue.  We 
unsaddle  and  wait  till  three  in  the  afternoon,  when 
again  "the  General"  sounds,  and  we  march  north- 
wardly over  the  ridges  towards  the  thick  smoke. 
"Crook  is  camping  on  Goose  Creek,"  is  the  expla- 
nation, and  we  are  to  join  him  there.  At  half- 


52  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 

past  five  we  catch  glimpses  of  distant  patrols  and 
herds  of  cavalry  horses  and  quartermasters'  mules 
on  the  sloping  side-hills.  Presently  horsemen  come 
cantering  out  to  meet  us.  Gray -haired,  handsome, 
soldierly  as  ever,  the  first  to  hail  us  is  our  old  Ari- 
zona major,  now  Lieutenant  -  Colonel  Royall,  of  the 
Third  Cavalry — with  him  a  group  of  his  own  and  the 
Second  Cavalry  officers.  But  we  are  still  moved  on- 
ward. We  descend  a  long  spur  of  foot-hill ;  plunge 
through  a  rapid  mountain  torrent  into  dense  timber 
on  the  other  side,  still  guided  by  our  welcoming  com- 
rades ;  ride  with  dripping  flanks  through  willow  and 
cottonwood  into  brilliant  light  beyond.  There  white 
tent  and  wagon  -  covers  gleam  in  every  direction  ; 
rough,  bearded  men  are  shouting  greeting  ;  and  just 
ahead,  on  the  trail,  in  worn  shooting  -  jacket,  slouch 
felt  hat,  and  soldier's  boots,  with  ragged  beard  braided 
and  tied  with  tape,  with  twinkling  eyes  and  half-shy, 
embarrassed  manner,  stands  our  old  Arizona  friend 
and  chieftain,  the  hardworking  soldier  we  have  come 
all  these  many  miles  to  join,  looking  as  natural  as 
when  we  last  saw  him  in  the  spurs  of  the  Sierras. 
There  is  no  mistaking  the  gladness  of  his  welcome. 
His  face  lights  up  with  new  light.  He  has  a  cordial 
word  with  General  Carr,  who  commands  the  leading 
battalion  ;  then  turns  to  me,  and  with  a  grasp  of  the 
hand  that  fairly  makes  me  wince,  gives  greeting  for 
which  I'd  make  that  march  twice  over. 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CKOOK.  53 


CHAPTER  Y. 

THE   ASSEMBLY  OF  THE  B.  H.  AND   Y. 

FKIDAY,  the  4th  of  August,  1876,  was  a  busy  day 
in  the  camp  of  General  Crook.  He  had  been  waiting 
impatiently  for  the  coming  of  the  Fifth  Cavalry,  in 
order  that  he  might  resume  the  offensive,  and,  to  use 
his  own  words,  "  finish  the  campaign  in  one  crushing 
blow."  The  tragic  success  of  the  Indians  on  the  Lit- 
tle Big  Horn,  of  June  25th,  resulting  in  the  annihila- 
tion of  Custer  and  five  companies  of  the  Seventh  Cav- 
alry, compelled  General  Terry  to  fall  back  to  the 
Yellowstone,  where  he  set  about  the  reorganization  of 
his  command ;  and,  safely  intrenched  in  his  supply 
camp  at  the  mouth  of  the  Tongue  River,  he  too  had 
been  awaiting  the  arrival  of  reinforcements.  Gen- 
eral Miles,  with  his  fine  regiment,  the  Fifth  Infantry, 
was  hurried  up  the  Missouri  from  Fort  Leavenworth, 
and  companies  of  the  Twenty-second  Infantry,  from 
the  Lakes,  also  hastened  to  join  him.  They  were 
stemming  the  muddy  current  of  the  great  river  as 
fast  as  the  light-draft  steamers  could  carry  them, 
while  we  were  marching  up  from  Fetterman  to  join 
General  Crook. 

On  the  4th  of  August,  Terry's  command,  consisting 
of  the  remnant  of  the  Seventh  Cavalry,  one  battalion 


54  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 

of  the  Second  Cavalry,  the  Fifth  Infantry  (Miles), 
Seventh  Infantry  (Gibbon),  a  battalion  of  the  Twenty- 
second,  and  the  Sixth  Infantry  garrison  at  Fort  Bu- 
ford,  threatened  the  hostiles  on  the  side  of  the  Yel- 
lowstone ;  while  General  Crook,  with  the  entire  Third 
Cavalry,  ten  companies  of  the  Fifth,  and  four  of  the 
Second  Cavalry,  and  an  admirable  infantry  command, 
consisting  of  detachments  from  the  Fourth,  Ninth, 
and  Fourteenth  regiments,  was  preparing  to  advance 
upon  them  from  the  south.  The  two  armies  were 
not  more  than  one  hundred  and  twenty -five  miles 
apart,  yet  communication  between  them  was  impos- 
sible. The  intervening  country  swarmed  with  war- 
riors,, six  to  eight  thousand  in  number,  completely 
armed,  equipped,  supplied,  and  perfectly  mounted. 
Crook  had  sallied  forth  and  fought  them  on  the  17th 
of  June,  and  found  them  altogether  too  strong  and 
dexterous,  so  he  retired  to  Goose  Creek  once  more  ; 
and  here  he  lay  on  the  25th  of  June,  when  Custer  was 
making  his  attack  and  meeting  his  fate  —  only  fifty 
miles  away,  and  not  a  soul  of  our  command  had  the 
faintest  idea  of  what  was  going  on. 

Warily  watching  the  two  commands,  the  Indians 
lay  uneasily  between  Crook  and  Terry.  Noting  the 
approach  of  strong  reinforcements  to  both,  they  pro- 
ceeded to  get  their  women  and  children  out  of  the 
way,  sending  them  eastward  across  Terry's  front, 
and  preparing  to  do  likewise  themselves  when  the 
time  came  for  them  to  start.  On  the  5th  of  August 
the  two  armies  moved  towards  each  other.  On  the 
10th  they  met  ;  and  one  of  the  most  comical  sights  I 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CKOOK.  55 

ever  witnessed  was  this  meeting,  and  one  of  the  most 
unanswerable  questions  ever  asked  was,  "  Why,  where 
on  earth  are  the  Indians  ?" 

However,  August  the,  4th  was  a  day  of  busy  prepa- 
ration. At  ten  A.M.  the  regimental  and  battalion  com- 
manders met  in  council  at  General  Crook's  headquar- 
ters, and  by  noon  the  result  of  their  deliberations  was 
promulgated.  From  the  reports  of  his  scouts  and  al- 
lies, General  Crook  had  every  reason  to  believe  that 
he  would  find  the  mass  of  Indians  posted  in  strong 
force  somewhere  among  the  bluffs  and  uplands  of  the 
Rosebud,  two  days'  march  away  to  the  north.  He 
had  been  unable  to  hear  from  General  Terry  or  to 
communicate  with  him.  Lieutenant  Sibley,  of  the 
Second  Cavalry,  a  young  officer  of  great  ability,  and 
universally  conceded  to  be  as  full  of  cool  courage  as 
any  man  could  well  be,  had  made  a  daring  attempt  to 
slip  through  with  thirty  picked  men  ;  but  the  Indians 
detected  him  quick  as  a  flash,  and  after  a  desperate 
fight  he  managed  to  get  back  to  the  command  with 
most  of  his  men,  but  with  the  loss  of  all  his  horses. 

The  organization  of  the  command  was  announced 
at  one  P.M.  :  General  Crook  to  command  in  person,  his 
faithful  aide-de-camp,  Bourke,  to  act  as  adjutant- 
general,  while  his  staff  consisted  of  Lieutenant  Schuy- 
ler,  Fifth  Cavalry,  junior  aide-de-camp  ;  Dr.  B.  A. 
Clements,  medical  director,  assisted  by  Drs.  Hart- 
suff  and  Patzki ;  Major  J.  V.  Furey,  chief  quarter- 
master ;  Captain  J.  W.  Bubb,  chief  commissary  ; 
Major  George  M.  Randall,  chief  of  scouts  and 
Indian  allies  ;  and  the  bloodthirsty  paymaster,  our 


56  CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CEOOK. 

old  friend  Major  Stanton,  was  the  general  utility 
man. 

The  cavalry  was  organized  as  a  brigade,  with  Gen- 
eral Merritt  in  command  —  Lieutenants  Forbush  and 
Hall,  Fifth  Cavalry,  Pardee  and  Young,  of  the  in- 
fantry, serving  as  staff.  General  Carr  took  command 
of  the  Fifth  Cavalry,  with  myself  as  adjutant ;  and 
for  the  first  time  the  promotions  which  had  occurred 
in  the  regiment  consequent  upon  the  death  of  Gen- 
eral Custer  were  recognized  in  the  assignments  to 
command.  The  commissions  had  not  )ret  been  re- 
ceived from  Washington,  but  all  knew  the  advance- 
ment had  been  made.  So  my  old  captain,  now  be- 
come Major  Mason,  turned  over  Company  "  K  "  to  its 
new  captain,  Woodson,  and  was  detailed  to  command 
the  Second  Battalion  of  the  Fifth  Cavalry,  consisting 
of  Companies  "B,"  "D,"  "E,"  «F,"  and  "K,"  while 
the  First  Battalion— Companies  "A,"  "  C,"  "  G,"  "I," 
and  "M" — remained,  as  heretofore,  under  the  leader- 
ship of  our  fellow-citizen  Major  Upham. 

The  Third  Cavalry  was  commanded  by  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  Royall,  under  whom  also  was  the  battalion  of 
the  Second  Cavalry.  Consequently,  it  was  his  distin- 
guished privilege  to  issue  orders  to  four  battalions, 
while  his  senior  officer  and  quondam  commander, 
Lieutenant  -  Colonel  Carr  (brevet  major-general)  had 
only  two.  This  was  a  source  of  much  good-natured 
raillery  and  mutual  chaffing  on  the  part  of  these 
two  veteran  campaigners,  and  it  was  Royall's  cease- 
less delight  to  come  over  and  talk  to  Carr  about  "  my 
brigade,"  and  to  patronizingly  question  him  about 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH   CROOK.  57 

"  your  a — detachment."  In  fact,  I  believe  that  Colo- 
nel Royall  so  far  considered  his  command  a  brigade 
organization  that  his  senior  major,  Colonel  Evans,  as- 
sumed command  of  the  Third  Cavalry  as  well  as  his 
own  battalion  ;  but,  as  this  was  a  matter  outside  of 
my  own  sphere  of  duties,  I  cannot  make  an  asser- 
tion. 

The  infantry  was  a  command  to  be  proud  of,  and 
Lieutenant-Colonel  Alexander  Chambers  was  the  man 
to  appreciate  it.  Detachments  from  three  fine  regi- 
ments gave  him  a  full  battalion  of  tough,  wiry  fel- 
lows, who  had  footed  it  a  thousand  miles  that  sum- 
mer, and  we  were  all  the  better  prepared  to  march  two 
thousand  more. 

With  every  expectation  of  finding  our  foes  close  at 
hand,  General  Crook's  orders  were  concise  enough. 
As  given  to  me  by  General  Carr,  and  recorded  in  my 
note-book,  I  transcribe  them  here  :  "All  tents,  camp 
equipage,  bedding,  and  baggage,  except  articles  here- 
inafter specified,  to  be  stored  in  the  wagons,  and 
wagons  turned  over  to  care  of  chief  quartermaster 
by  sunrise  to-morrow.  Each  company  to  have  their 
coffee  roasted  and  ground  and  turned  over  to  the 
chief  commissary  at  sunset  to-night.  Wagons  will  be 
left  here  at  camp.  A  pack-train  of  mules  will  accom- 
pany each  battalion  on  the  march,  for  the  protection 
of  which  the  battalion  will  be  held  responsible.  The 
regiment  will  march  at  seven  A.M.  to-morrow,  *  prepared 
for  action,'  and  company  commanders  will  see  to  it  that 
each  man  carries  with  him  on  his  person  one  hundred 
rounds  carbine  ammunition  and  four  days'  rations, 


58  CAMPAIGNING   WITH   CEOOK. 

overcoat  and  one  blanket  on  the  saddle.  Fifty  rounds 
additional  per  man  will  be  packed  on  mules.  Four 
extra  horses,  not  to  be  packed,  will  be  led  with  each 
company.  Curry-combs  and  brushes  will  be  left  in 
wagons.  Special  instructions  for  action :  All  officers 
and  non-commissioned  officers  to  take  constant  pains 
to  prevent  wastage  of  ammunition." 

That  was  all.  From  the  general  down  to  sub- 
alterns the  officers  started  with  no  more  clothing 
than  they  had  on  and  the  overcoat  and  blanket  indi- 
cated in  that  order.  Many,  indeed,  officers  and  men, 
thinking  to  be  back  in  a  week,  left  overcoats  behind, 
as  superfluous  in  that  bright  August  weather.  When 
I  tell  you  it  was  ten  weeks  before  we  saw  those  wag- 
ons again,  meantime  the  weather  having  changed  from 
summer  sun  to  mountain  storm  and  sleet,  and  we  hav- 
ing tramped  some  eight  hundred  miles,  you  can  fancy 
what  a  stylish  appearance  the  Fifth  Cavalry — indeed, 
the  whole  expedition — presented  as  it  marched  into 
the  Black  Hills  the  following  September. 

Saturday  morning,  the  5th  of  August,  broke  clear 
and  cloudless,  and  at  the  very  peep  of  day  the  hill- 
sides re-echoed  to  the  stirring  music  of  our  reveille. 
Cavalry  trumpet,  soft  and  mellow,  replied  to  the 
deeper  tone  of  the  infantry  bugle.  We  of  the  Fifth 
tumbled  up  in  prompt  and  cheery  response  to  the 
summons.  Roll  -  call  was  quickly  over.  The  horses 
took  their  final  grooming  with  coltish  impatience,  and 
devoured  their  grain  in  blissful  ignorance  of  the  suffer- 
ings in  store  for  them.  The  officers  gathered  for  the 
last  time  in  two  months  around  their  mess-chests  and 


CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK.     .  59 

thankfully  partook  of  a  bountiful  breakfast.  Then 
"the  General"  rang  out  from  cavalry  headquarters  ; 
down  fell  the  snowy  canvas  in  every  direction  ;  wagon 
after  wagon  loaded  up  in  the  rapid  style  acquired  only 
in  long  campaigning,  and  trundled  off  to  join  the 
quartermaster's  corral.  The  long  column  of  infan- 
try crawled  away  northward  over  the  divide;  half  a 
dozen  mounted  scouts  and  rangers  cantered  away 
upon  their  flanks  ;  the  busy  packers  drove  up  their 
herds  of  braying  mules,  lashed  boxes  of  hard  -  tack 
and  sacks  of  bacon  upon  the  snugly -fitting  "  appa- 
rejo  " — the  only  pack-saddle  that  ever  proved  a  com- 
plete success — and  finally  everything  was  ready  for 
the  start.  The  bustling  town  of  yesterday  had  dis- 
appeared, and  only  long  rows  of  saddles  and  bridles 
disposed  upon  the  turf  in  front  of  each  company  in- 
dicated the  regimental  position. 

At  General  Carr's  headquarters,  among  the  willows 
close  to  the  stream,  a  white  flag,  with  a  centre  square 
of  red,  is  fluttering  in  the  breeze.  It  is  one  of  the  signal 
flags,  but  as  the  regimental  standard  had  been  left  with 
the  band  at  Fort  Hays,  the  general  adopted  this  for  the 
double  purpose  of  indicating  his  own  position  and  of 
conveying  messages  to  the  distant  outposts.  Yester- 
day afternoon  a  group  of  our  Indian  allies,  Crows  and 
Shoshones,  surrounded  that  flag  with  wondering  in- 
terest from  the  moment  of  its  first  appearance.  Ac- 
customed to  the  use  of  signals  themselves,  they  eagerly 
watch  any  improvement  upon  their  system,  and,  learn- 
ing from  Sergeant  Center,  our  standard-bearer  and 
signal  sergeant,  that  this  was  a  "speaking  flag,"  they 


60  .     CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CKOOK. 

hung  around  for  hours  to  observe  its  operation.  The 
herds  of  the  different  companies  were  browsing  on  the 
hillsides  half  a  mile  away,  strong  pickets  being  thrown 
out  in  their  front,  and  each  herd  guarded  by  a  ser- 
geant and  party  from  its  own  company.  So  General 
Carr,  to  give  the  Indians  an  idea  of  its  use  and  at  the 
same  time  secure  more  room,  directed  the  sergeant  to 
"  Flag  those  Second  Battalion  herds  to  the  other  side  of 
that  ravine."  So  Center  signalled  "Attention  "  to  the 
outposts,  to  which  they  waved  "  22,  22,  22,  3,"  the  sig- 
nal for  "  All  right,  go  ahead,  we're  ready,"  and  then, 
with  the  staring  eyes  of  a  score  of  swarthy  warriors 
following  his  every  move,  Center  rapidly  swung  his 
flag  to  form  the  message  :  "  General  Carr  directs 
herds  Second  Battalion  cross  ravine."  Speedily  the 
grays  of  Company  "  B  "  and  the  four  bay  herds  of 
the  other  companies  began  the  movement,  were  slow- 
ly guided  through  the  sorrels,  blacks,  and  bays  of 
the  First  Battalion,  and  commenced  the  descent  into 
the  ravine.  One  herd  lagged  a  little  behind,  and  the 
general,  gazing  at  them  through  his  binocular,  quickly 
divined  the  cause.  "  Confound  that  herd  guard  ;  tell 
'em  to  take  off  those  side-lines  when  they're  moving, 
if  it's  only  a  hundred  yards."  The  message  is  sent  as 
given,  the  side-lines  whipped  off,  the  horses  step  freely 
to  their  new  grazing-ground,  Crow  and  Shoshonee  mut- 
ter guttural  approbation  and  say  that  flag  is  "heap 
good  medicine." 

Hours  afterwards  they  are  hunting  about  camp  for 
old  flour-sacks  and  the  like,  and  several  towels,  spread 
on  the  bushes  at  the  bathing-place  below  camp  to  dry 
in  the  sun,  are  missing. 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH   CEOOK.  61 

Now,  on  this  brilliant  Saturday  morning,  as  we  wait 
expectant  of  the  signal  "  Boots  and  saddles,"  the  cav- 
alcade of  our  fierce  allies  comes  spattering  and  plung- 
ing through  the  stream.  Grim  old  chieftains,  with 
knees  hunched  up  on  their  ponies'  withers,  strapping 
young  bucks  bedaubed  in  yellow  paint  and  red,  blan- 
ketted  and  busy  squaws  scurrying  around  herding  the 
spare  ponies,  driving  the  pack  animals,  "toting"  the 
young,  doing  all  the  work  in  fact.  We  have  hired 
these  hereditary  enemies  of  the  Sioux  as  our  savage 
auxiliaries,  "regardless  of  expense,"  and  now,  as  they 
ride  along  the  line,  and  our  irrepressible  Mulligans  and 
Flahertys  swarm  to  the  fore  intent  on  losing  no  op- 
portunity for  fun  and  chaff,  and  the  "  big  Indians  "  in 
the  lead  come  grinning  and  nodding  salutations  tow- 
ards the  group  of  officers  at  headquarters,  a  general 
laugh  breaks  out,  for  nearly  every  warrior  has  deco- 
rated himself  with  a  miniature  signal  flag.  Flutter- 
ing at  the  end  of  his  "  coup  "  stick  or  stuck  in  his 
headgear,  a  small  square  of  white  towelling  or  flour- 
sack,  with  a  centre  daub  of  red  paint,  is  displayed  to 
the  breeze,  and,  under  his  new  ensign,  Mr.  Lo  rides 
complacently  along,  convinced  that  he  has  entered 
upon  his  campaign  with  "  good  medicine." 

Half-past  six.  Still  no  signal  to  bring  in  the  herds. 
But  Merritt,  Carr,  and  Royall  are  born  and  bred  cav- 
alrymen, and  well  know  the  value  of  every  mouthful 
of  the  rich  dew-laden  grass  before  the  march  be- 
gins. We  are  exchanging  good-byes  with  the  quar- 
termasters and  the  unhappy  creatures  who  are  to  re- 
main behind,  adding  our  closing  messages  to  the  letters 


62  CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK. 

we  leave  for  dear  ones  in  distant  homes,  when  the 
cheery  notes  ring  out  from  brigade  headquarters  and 
are  taken  up,  repeated  along  the  line  by  the  regimental 
trumpeters.  Far  out  on  the  slopes  our  horses  answer 
with  eager  hoof  and  neigh;  with  springy  steps  the  men 
hasten  out  to  bridle  their  steeds,  and,  vaulting  on  their 
backs,  ride  in  by  companies  to  the  line.  The  bustle  of 
saddling,  the  snap  of  buckle  and  whip  of  cinch,  suc- 
ceeds, then  "Lead  into  line"  is  heard  from  the  sergeant's 
lips.  Officers  ride  slowly  along  their  commands,  care- 
fully scrutinizing  each  horse  and  man.  Blanket,  pon- 
cho, overcoat,  side-line,  lariat,  and  picket-pin,  canteen 
and  haversack,  each  has  its  appropriate  place  and  must 
be  in  no  other.  Each  trooper  in  turn  displays  his 
"  thimble  belt"  and  extra  pocket  package,  to  show  that 
he  has  the  prescribed  one  hundred  rounds.  The  adju- 
tant, riding  along  the  line,  receives  the  report  of  each 
captain  and  transfers  it  to  his  note-book.  Away  down 
the  valley  we  see  the  Second  and  Third  already  in  mo- 
tion, filing  off  around  the  bluffs.  Then  General  Carr's 
chief  trumpeter  raises  his  clarion  to  his  lips.  "  Mount," 
rings  out  upon  the  air,  and  with  the  sound  twenty 
officers  and  five  hundred  and  fifteen  men  swing  into 
saddle.  Ten  minutes  more  and  we  are  winding  across 
the  divide  towards  Prairie  Dog  Creek  on  the  east. 
The  Third  and  Second,  a  mile  to  our  left,  are  marching 
northeastward  on  the  trail  of  the  infantry.  We  fill 
our  lungs  with  deep  draughts  of  the  rare,  bracing 
mountain  breeze,  take  a  last  glance  at  the  grand  crags 
and  buttresses  of  rock  to  the  southward,  then  with 
faces  eagerly  set  towards  the  rolling  smoke-wreaths 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK.  63 

that  mark  the  track  of  the  savage  foe  in  the  valley  of 
the  "Deje  Agie,"  we  close  our  columns,  shake  free  our 
bridle  reins,  and  press  steadily  forward.  "  Our  wild 
campaign  has  begun." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  MEET  ON  THE  ROSEBUD. 

THAT  General  Crook's  command,  now  designated  as 
the  "Big  Horn  and  Yellowstone  Expedition,"  started 
upon  its  campaign  in  the  best  possible  spirits  and  under 
favoring  skies,  no  one  who  saw  us  that  bright  August 
morning  could  have  doubted.  Unhappily,  there  was 
no  one  to  see,  no  one  to  cheer  or  applaud,  and,  once 
having  cut  loose  from  our  wagons  and  their  guards, 
there  was  not  a  soul  to  mark  our  progress,  unless  it 
were  some  lurking  scout  in  distant  lair,  who  trusted  to 
his  intimate  knowledge  of  the  country  and  to  his  pony's 
fleetness  to  keep  himself  out  of  our  clutches.  Once 
fairly  in  the  valley  of  the  Prairie  Dog,  we  had  a  good 
look  at  our  array.  The  Fifth  Cavalry  in  long  column 
were  bringing  up  the  rear  on  this  our  first  day's  march 
from  Goose  Creek  ;  our  packers  and  their  lively  little 
mules  jogging  briskly  along  upon  our  right  flank,  while 
the  space  between  us  and  the  rolling  foot-hills  on  the  left 
was  thickly  covered  with  our  Crow  allies.  The  Sho- 
shones  were  ahead  somewhere,  and  we  proceeded  to 
scrape  acquaintance  with  these  wild  warriors  of  the 
far  northwest,  whom  we  were  now  meeting  for  the  first 
time.  Organized  in  1855,  our  regiment  had  seen  its 


64  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CKOOK. 

first  Indian  service  on  the  broad  plains  of  Texas,  and 
was  thoroughly  well  known  among  the  Comanches, 
Kiowas,  and  Lipans  when  the  great  war  of  the  rebel- 
lion broke  out.  In  those  days,  with  Sidney  Johnston, 
Robert  E.  Lee,  Earl  Van  Dorn,  Kirby  Smith,  Fitz 
Hugh  Lee,  and  a  dozen  others  who  became  notorious 
in  the  rebel  army  as  its  representative  officers,  our 
regiment  had  been  not  inaptly  styled  "Jeff.  Davis's 
Own."  But  it  outgrew  the  baleful  title  during  the 
war,  and  has  lost  almost  every  trace  of  its  ante-bellum 
personnel.  Two  of  its  most  distinguished  captains  of 
to-day — Montgomery  and  "Jack"  Hayes — it  is  true 
acquired  their  earliest  military  experience  in  its  ranks 
under  those  very  officers.  But,  while  they  are  all  the 
better  as  cavalrymen  for  that  fact,  they  are  none  the 
less  determined  in  their  loyalty,  and  both  fought  in 
many  a  wTild  charge  during  the  rebellion,  defending 
their  flag  against  the  very  men  who  had  taught  them 
the  use  of  their  sabres.  In  that  stern  baptism  of  blood 
the  Fifth  became  regenerate,  and  after  stirring  service 
in  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  during  the  war,  and 
throughout  the  South  during  reconstruction  days,  the 
regiment  once  more  drifted  out  on  the  plains,  was  in- 
troduced to  the  Cheyennes  and  Sioux  in  the  winter  of 
1868-9,  became  very  much  at  home  among  the  Apaches 
of  Arizona  from  1871  to  1875,  and  now  we  found  our- 
selves, after  a  long  march  across  country  from  the 
Pacific  slope,  scraping  acquaintance  with  the  redoubt- 
able "Crows"  of  the  Yellowstone  valley,  the  life-long 
enemies  of  the  Sioux. 

Riding  "  at  ease,"  the  men  talk,  laugh,  and  sing  if 


CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK.  65 

they  want  to.  All  that  is  required  is  that  they  shall 
not  lounge  in  the  saddle,  and  that  they  keep  accurately 
their  distance,  and  ride  at  a  steady  walk.  The  Crows 
are  scattered  along  the  entire  length  of  our  left  flank, 
but  a  band  of  some  fifteen  or  twenty  chiefs  and  head- 
men keep  alongside  the  headquarters  party  at  the  front 
of  column.  There  rides  General  Carr  with  his  adju- 
tant, the  surgeon, the  non-commissioned  staff,  and  order- 
lies, and,  of  course,  the  standard-bearer,  who,  as  previ- 
ously explained,  has  a  signal  flag  for  this  campaign, 
and  it  is  this  which  attracts  the  aborigine. 

These  Crows  are  fine-looking  warriors,  and  fine  horse- 
men too;  but  to  see  them  riding  along  at  ease,  their 
ponies  apparently  gliding  over  the  ground  in  their 
quick,  cat-like  walk,  their  position  in  the  saddle  seems 
neither  graceful  nor  secure.  This  knot  on  our  left  is 
full  of  the  most  favorable  specimens,  and  they  all  ride 
alike.  Every  man's  blanket  is  so  disposed  that  it  cov- 
ers him  from  the  back  of  his  head,  folds  across  his 
breast,  leaving  the  arms  free  play  in  a  manner  only  an 
Indian  can  accomplish,  and  then  is  tucked  in  about  his 
thighs  and  knees  so  as  to  give  him  complete  protec- 
tion. One  or  two  younger  bucks  have  discarded  their 
blankets  for  the  day,  and  ride  about  in  dingy  calico 
shirts  or  old  cavalry  jackets.  One  or  two  also  appear 
in  cavalry  trousers  instead  of  the  native  breech-clout 
and  legging.  But  the  moment  that  Indian  dismounts 
you  notice  two  points  in  which  he  is  diametrically  op- 
posed to  the  customs  of  his  white  brother :  first,  that 
he  mounts  and  dismounts  on  the  right  (off)  side  of  his 

horse;  second,  that  he  carefully  cuts  out  and  throws 
5 


66  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CKOOK. 

away  that  portion  of  a  pair  of  trousers  which  with  us 
is  regarded  as  indispensable.  He  rides  hunched  up  in 
his  saddle,  with  a  stirrup  so  short  that  his  knees  are 
way  out  to  the  front  and  bent  in  an  acute  angle.  The 
stirrup  itself  is  something  like  the  shoe  of  a  lady's  side- 
saddle, and  he  thrusts  his  moccasined  foot  in  full 
length.  He  carries  in  his  right  hand  a  wooden  handle 
a  foot  long,  to  which  three  or  four  thongs  of  deer-skin 
are  attached,  and  with  this  scourge-like  implement  he 
keeps  up  an  incessant  shower  of  light  flaps  upon  his 
pony's  flank,  rarely  striking  him  heavily,  and  nothing 
will  convince  him  that  under  that  system  the  pony 
will  not  cover  more  miles  in  a  day  at  a  walk  or  lope 
than  any  horse  in  America.  His  horse  equipments 
are  of  the  most  primitive  description — a  light  wooden 
frame-work  or  tree,  with  high,  narrow  pommel  and  can- 
tie,  much  shorter  in  the  seat  than  ours,  the  whole  cov- 
ered with  hide,  stitched  with  thongs  and  fastened  on 
with  a  horsehair  girth,  constitute  his  saddle.  Any  old 
piece  of  blanket  or  coffee-sack  answers  for  saddle  cloth, 
and  his  bridle  is  the  simplest  thing  in  the  world,  a  single 
head-piece,a  light  snaffle  bit,  and  a  rein, sometimes  gayly 
ornamented,  completes  the  arrangement.  But  at  full 
speed  the  worst  horseman  among  them  will  dash  up 
hill  or  down,  through  tortuous  and  rocky  stream-beds, 
everywhere  that  a  goat  would  go,  and  he  looks  upon 
our  boldest  rider  as  a  poor  specimen. 

The  Crows  are  affably  disposed  to-day,  and  we  have 
no  especial  difficulty  in  fraternizing.  Plug  tobacco 
will  go  a  long  way  as  a  medium  of  introduction  any- 
where west  of  the  Missouri,  and  if  you  give  one  Indian 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CKOOK.  67 

a  piece  as  big  as  a  postage-stamp,  the  whole  tribe  will 
come  in  to  claim  acquaintance.  A  very  pretty  tobacco- 
pouch  of  Sioux  manufacture  which  hung  always  at  the 
pommel  of  my  saddle,  and  the  heavily  beaded  buckskin 
riding-breeches  which  I  wore,  seemed  to  attract  their 
notice,  and  one  of  them  finally  managed  to  commu- 
nicate through  a  half-breed  interpreter  a  query  as  to 
whether  I  had  killed  the  Sioux  chief  who  had  owned 
them.  Finding  that  I  had  never  killed  a  Sioux  in  my 
life,  the  disdainful  warrior  dropped  me  as  no  longer 
a  desirable  acquaintance ;  and  even  the  fact  that  the 
breeches  were  a  valuable  present  from  no  less  a  hero 
than  Buffalo  Bill  failed  to  make  a  favorable  impres- 
sion. Following  him  were  a  pair  of  bright-looking 
young  squaws  whose  sole  occupation  in  life  seemed 
to  consist  in  ministering  to  the  various  wants  of 
his  sulky  chief  ship.  Riding  astride,  just  as  the  men 
do,  these  ladies  were  equally  at  home  on  pony-back, 
and  they  "  herded  "  his  spare  "  mounts "  and  drove 
his  pack  animals  with  consummate  skill.  A  tiny  pap- 
poose  hung  on  the  back  of  one  of  them,  and  gazed  over 
her  shoulder  with  solemn,  speculative  eyes  at  the  long 
files  of  soldiers  on  their  tall  horses.  At  that  tender  age 
it  was  in  no  way  compromising  his  dignity  to  display 
an  interest  in  what  was  going  on  around  him.  Later 
in  life  he  would  lose  caste  as  a  warrior  if  he  ventured 
to  display  wonderment  at  sight  of  a  flying-machine. 
For  several  hours  we  rode  side  by  side  with  our  strange 
companions.  We  had  no  hesitancy  in  watching  them 
with  eager  curiosity,  and  they  were  as  intent  on  "pick- 
ing up  points  "  about  us,  only  they  did  it  furtively. 


68  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 

Gradually  we  were  drawing  nearer  the  swift  "  Deje 
Agie,"  as  the  Crows  call  the  Tongue  River.  The  val- 
ley down  which  we  were  moving  sank  deeper  among 
the  bold  bluffs  on  either  side.  Something  impeded 
the  march  of  the  column  ahead;  the  pack  trains  on  our 
right  were  "  doubling  up,"  and  every  mule,  with  that 
strict  attention  to  business  characteristic  of  the  species, 
had  buried  its  nose  in  the  rich  buffalo  grass,  making 
up  for  lost  time.  "Halt !"  and  "  Dismount !"  rang  out 
from  the  trumpets.  Every  trooper  slips  the  heavy 
curb  bit  from  his  horse's  mouth  and  leads  him  right 
or  left  off  the  trail  that  he  may  profit  by  even  a  mo- 
ment's rest  to  crop  the  fresh  bunches  in  which  that 
herbage  grows. 

The  morning  has  passed  without  notable  incident. 
No  alarm  has  come  from  the  scouts  in  front  or  flank. 
We  are  so  far  in  rear  to-day  that  we  miss  our  friends 
Cody  and  Chips,  who  hitherto  were  our  scouts  and  no 
one  else's.  Now  they  are  part  and  parcel  of  the  squad 
attached  to  General  Crook's  headquarters,  of  which 
Major  Stanton  is  the  putative  chief.  We  miss  our  fire- 
eater  of  a  paymaster — the  only  one  of  his  corps,  I  fancy, 
who  would  rather  undergo  the  privations  of  such  a  cam- 
paign and  take  actual  part  in  its  engagements,  than  sit  at 
a  comfortable  desk  at  home  and  criticise  its  movements. 
At  noon  we  come  suddenly  upon  the  rushing  Tongue, 
and  fording,  breast  deep,  cross  to  the  northern  shore. 
We  emerge  at  the  very  base  of  steep  rocky  heights, 
push  round  a  ledge  that  shuts  out  the  northward  pros- 
pect from  our  sight,  find  the  river  recoiling  from  a  pali- 
sade of  rock  on  the  east,  and  tearing  back  across  our 


8     ! 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CKOOK.  69 

path,  ford  it  again  and  struggle  along  under  the  cliffs 
on  its  right  bank  a  few  minutes,  balancing  ourselves, 
it  almost  seems,  upon  a  trail  barely  wide  enough  for  one 
horseman.  What  a  place  for  ambuscade  or  surprise ! 
We  can  see  no  flankers  or  scouts,  but  feel  confident 
that  our  general  has  not  shoved  the  nose  of  his  column 
into  such  a  trap  without  rigid  reconnoissance.  So  we 
push  unconcernedly  along.  Once  more  the  green, 
foam-crested  torrent  sweeps  across  our  line  of  march 
from  the  left,  and  we  ride  in,  our  horses  snorting  and 
plunging  over  the  slippery  boulders  on  the  bottom,  the 
eager  waves  dashing  up  about  our  knees.  Once  more 
we  wind  around  a  projecting  elbow  of  bluff,  and  as 
the  head  of  our  column,  which  has  halted  to  permit 
the  companies  to  close  up,  straightens  out  in  motion 
again,  we  enter  a  beautiful  glade.  The  river,  beating 
in  foam  against  the  high,  precipitous  rocks  on  the 
eastern  bank,  broke  in  tiny,  peaceful  wavelets  upon 
the  grassy  shores  and  slopes  of  the  western  side  ;  the 
great  hills  rolled  away  to  the  left;  groves  of  timber 
sprang  up  in  our  front,  and  through  their  leafy  tops 
the  white  smoke  of  many  a  camp-fire  was  curling;  the 
horses  of  the  Second  and  Third,  strongly  guarded, 
were  already  moving  out  to  graze  on  the  foot-hills. 
An  aide-de-camp  rides  to  General  Carr  with  orders  to 
" bivouac  right  here;  we  march  no  further  to-day." 
We  ride  left  into  line,  unsaddle,  and  detail  our  guards. 
Captain  Payne,  with  Company  "  F,"  is  assigned  the 
duty  of  protecting  camp  from  surprise,  and  he  and  his 
men  hasten  off  to  surrounding  hill-tops  and  crests  from 
which  they  can  view  the  approaches,  and  at  two  P.M. 


70  CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CKOOK. 

we  proceed  to  make  ourselves  comfortable.  We  have 
no  huts  and  only  one  blanket  apiece,  but  who  cares  ? 
The  August  sun  is  bright  and  cheery;  the  air  is  fresh 
and  clear;  the  smoke  rises,  mast-like,  high  in  the  skies 
until  it  meets  the  upland  breeze  that,  sweeping  down 
from  the  Big  Horn  range  behind  us,  has  cleared  away 
the  pall  of  smoke  our  Indian  foes  had  but  yesterday 
hung  before  our  eyes,  and  left  the  valley  of  the  Tongue 
thus  far  green  and  undefiled.  We  have  come  but  twen- 
ty miles,  are  fresh  and  vigorous  ;  but  the  advance  re- 
ports no  signs  yet,  and  Crook  halts  us  so  that  we  may 
have  an  early  start  to-morrow. 

We  smoke  our  pipes  and  doze  through  the  afternoon, 
stretched  at  length  under  the  shady  trees,  and  at  even- 
ing stroll  around  among  the  camp  -  fires,  calling  on 
brother  officers  of  other  regiments  whom  we  haven't 
met  before  in  years.  But  early  enough  we  roll  our- 
selves in  our  blankets,  and,  with  heads  pillowed  on  turf 
or  saddle,  sleep  undisturbed  till  dawn. 

August  6th  breaks  clear  and  cloudless.  Long  be- 
fore the  sun  can  peer  in  upon  us  in  our  deep  nook  in 
the  valley,  we  have  had  our  dip  in  the  cold  stream, 
and  our  steaming  and  hugely  relished  breakfast, 
stowed  our  tinnikins  and  pannikins  on  the  pack  mules, 
and  wait  expectant  of  "Boots  and  saddles!"  Again 
the  infantry  lead  the  way,  and  not  until  seven  do  we 
hear  the  welcome  "  Mount!"  and  follow  in  their  tracks. 
By  this  time  the  sun  is  pouring  down  upon  us;  by 
nine  his  rays  are  scorching,  and  the  dust  rises  in  clouds 
from  the  crowded  trail.  The  gorge  grows  deeper  and 
deeper,  the  bluffs  bolder  and  more  precipitous;  we  can 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK.  71 

see  nothing  but  precipice  on  either  side,  and,  lashed 
and  tormented,  the  Deje  Agie  winds  a  tortuous  course 
between.  We  cross  it  again  and  again — each  time  it 
grows  deeper  and  stronger.  The  trail  is  so  crooked  we 
never  see  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  ahead.  At  noon 
we  overtake  the  infantry,  phlegmatically  stripping  off 
shoes,  stockings,  and  all  garments  "  below  the  belt," 
for  the  eleventh  time  since  they  left  camp,  prepara- 
tory to  another  plunge  through  the  stream;  and  a  tall, 
red-headed  Irishman  starts  a  laugh  with  his  quizzical 
"  Fellers,  did  e'er  a  one  of  yez  iver  cross  on  a  bridge  ?" 

At  two  o'clock,  after  the  thirteenth  crossing  since 
seven  A.M.,  we  again  receive  orders  to  halt,  unsaddle, 
and  bivouac.  Captain  Leib  and  Company  "M  "  mount 
guard,  and  with  twenty-two  miles  more  to  our  credit,  and 
with  the  thick  smoke  of  forest  fires  drifting  overhead, 
we  repeat  the  performance  of  yesterday  afternoon  and 
night,  and  wonder  when  we  are  to  see  those  Indians. 

Reveille  and  the  dawn  of  the  seventh  come  together, 
We  wake  stiff  and  cold  in  the  keen  morning  air,  but 
thaw  out  rapidly  under  the  genial  influence  of  the 
huge  tins  of  coffee  promptly  supplied.  At  six  we 
descry  the  infantry  and  the  pack  trains  clambering  up 
the  heights  to  the  northwest  and  disappearing  from 
view  over  the  timbered  crests.  At  seven  we  again 
mount  and  ride  down  stream  a  few  hundred  yards,  then 
turn  sharp  to  the  left  and  up  a  broad  winding  ravine 
along  a  beaten  trail — buffalo  and  Indian,  of  great  an- 
tiquity. Mile  after  mile  we  push  along  up  grade — we 
of  the  Fifth  well  to  the  front  to-day  and  in  view  of  the 
scouts  and  advance  most  of  the  time.  The  woods  are 


72  CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CKOOK. 

thick  along  the  slopes,  the  grass  that  was  rich  and 
abundant  in  the  valley  of  the  Tongue  is  becoming 
sparse.  Up  we  go — the  ascent  seems  interminable. 
Once  in  a  while  we  catch  glimpses  of  smoke  masses 
overhead  and  drifting  across  the  face  of  distant  ridges. 
At  last  we  see  knots  of  horsemen  gathering  on  a  high 
ridge  a  mile  in  front;  half  an  hour's  active  climbing, 
mostly  afoot  and  leading  our  horses,  brings  us  close 
under  them.  "  Halt "  is  sounded,  and  General  Carr 
and  I  go  up  to  join  the  party  on  the  crest. 

We  pause  on  the  very  summit  of  the  great  di- 
vide between  the  Tongue  and  the  Rosebud,  and  far 
to  south,  north,  and  west  the  tumbling  sea  of  ravine 
and  upland,  valleys  that  dip  out  of  sight,  mountains 
that  are  lost  in  fleecy  clouds,  all  are  spread  before  us. 
The  view  is  glorious.  We  look  right  down  into  the 
canon  of  the  Rosebud,  yet  it  must  be  six  to  eight 
miles  away,  and  how  far  down  we  cannot  judge. 
From  every  valley  north  and  west  rolling  clouds  of 
smoke  rise  towards  and  blacken  the  heavens.  Some- 
where over  on  those  opposite  bluffs  General  Crook 
had  his  big  fight  with  the  Sioux  on  the  17th  of  June, 
but  not  a  Sioux  is  in  sight. 

It  takes  us  three  good  hours  to  get  down  into  the 
valley,  and  here  we  receive  in  grim  silence  the  orders 
to  go  into  bivouac  parallel  to  the  stream,  facing  west. 
The  Indians  have  burned  off  every  blade  of  grass 
their  ponies  left  undevoured  along  the  narrow  gorge, 
and  for  miles  below  us  the  scouts  report  it  even  worse. 
"The  whole  Sioux  nation  has  been  in  camp  here- 
abouts not  two  weeks  ago,"  says  one  rugged  fron- 


CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK.  73 

tiersman,  "and  I've  been  nigh  onto  ten  mile  down 
stream  and  didn't  reach  the  end  of  the  village." 
The  ground  is  strewn  with  abandoned  lodge -poles, 
and  covered  with  relics  of  Indian  occupancy  too  un- 
mistakable to  be  pleasant. 

The  Third  and  Second  Cavalry  file  into  position  on 
the  eastern  bank  parallel  with  our  line,  and  all  the 
pickets  go  out  at  once  —  Captain  Hayes,  with  Com- 
pany "  G,"  covering  our  front. 

The  situation  is  romantic,  but  disagreeable.  Some 
of  us  sleep  rather  restlessly  that  night,  and  one  and 
all  welcome  the  dawn  of  the  8th.  It  is  more  than 
chilly  in  the  keen  morning  air,  but  we  march  north- 
ward in  a  thick,  smoky  haze  that  utterly  obscures  the 
landscape.  We  can  see  but  a  short  fifty  yards  in  any 
direction,  and  the  deeper  we  ride  into  it  the  thicker 
and  more  suffocating  it  becomes.  Four  or  five  miles 
down  stream,  still  riding  through  the  lately  occupied 
camps,  we  bump  up  against  the  rear  of  the  column 
ahead.  An  aide  leads  us  off  to  the  left,  and  informs 
General  Carr  that  there  is  good  grazing  in  some  little 
breaks  and  ravines — to  unsaddle  and  give  the  horses 
a  chance  while  we  wait  for  reports  from  the  scouts. 
Here  we  "  loaf  "  through  the  entire  day,  when  sud- 
denly the  signal  to  saddle  and  mount  startles  us  at 
six  P.M.,  just  as  we  were  thinking  of  going  to  sleep. 
We  march  very  rapidly,  six,  seven,  ten  miles,  and 
then  darkness  sets  in.  Thicker  darkness  I  never  en- 
countered. Men  pull  out  their  pipes  and  whiff  away 
at  them  till  the  glow  of  their  sparks  looks  like  a  long 
trail  of  tiny  furnace  fires,  and  gives  us  a  clue  to  fol- 


74  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 

low.  No  one  but  an  Indian  who  has  lived  among  these 
valleys  all  his  life  can  be  guiding  us  to-night.  At 
nine  o'clock  the  men  are  singing  darky  melodies  and 
Irish  songs  ;  and  it  is  not  until  10.30  that  we  file  past 
bivouac  fires  lighted  in  a  deep  bend  of  the  stream, 
grope  our  way  out  to  an  invisible  front,  and,  fairly 
hobbling  and  half  -  lariating  our  horses,  throw  our- 
selves down  by  them  to  sleep.  Captain  Rodgers  is 
notified  that  he  and  Company  "A"  are  "for  guard ;" 
and,  for  a  man  who  cannot  or  will  not  swear,  Rodg- 
ers manages  to  express  his  disgust  appropriately. 

A  slight  sprinkling  of  rain  comes  on  at  daybreak, 
and  we  see  the  infantry  hurrying  off  northward 
through  the  misty  light.  We  soon  follow  down  the 
right  bank,  the  Fifth  Cavalry  leading  the  column  of 
horse.  Stanton  tells  us  that  a  large  body  of  Sioux 
are  not  more  than  four  days  ahead — were  here  in 
force  not  four  days  ago.  It  is  easy  to  see  that  we  are 
on  the  trail  of  an  immense  number  of  Indians — eight 
to  ten  thousand  —  but  we  judge  it  to  be  a  fortnight 
old.  At  9.15  a  cold,  driving  rain  sets  in,  and  whirls 
in  our  faces  as  we  march.  At  two  P.M.  we  bivouac 
again,  and  begin  to  growl  at  this  will-o'-the-wisp  busi- 
ness. The  night,  for  August,  is  bitter  cold.  Ice 
forms  on  the  shallow  pools  close  to  shore,  and  Cap- 
tain Adam,  who  commands  the  guard,  declares  that 
the  thermometer  was  at  zero  at  daybreak.  "  What 
thermometer?"  is  the  question.  "Veil,  any  ther- 
mometer as  was  tarn  fool  enough  to  get  here  — 
un? stand?"  is  our  veteran's  characteristic  reply,  and 
it  puts  us  in  better  humor.  Stiff  and  cold  when  we 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CEOOK.  75 

march  at  seven  o'clock  on  the  10th,  we  have  not  long  to 
suffer  from  that  cause.  A  bright  sun  pours  down  in 
recompense.  We  march  five  miles,  halt,  and  graze 
awhile  ;  then  push  on  again  along  a  broad,  beaten 
trail  over  which  countless  hordes  of  ponies  must 
have  recently  passed.  Thick  clouds  of  dust  rise 
high  above  the  bluffs  on  either  side  ;  the  valley  opens 
out  wide  and  rolling  east  and  west.  Here  the  Ind- 
ian flight  has  been  so  rapid  that  the  work  of  de- 
struction is  incomplete,  and  the  grass  is  excellent  in 
many  a  spot.  "  The  grandest  country  in  the  world 
for  Indian  and  buffalo  now,"  says  General  Carr. 
"  Two  years  hence  it  will  be  the  grandest  place  for 
cattle." 

We  of  the  Fifth  are  marching  down  the  left  or 
western  bank  of  the  Rosebud  to-day,  somewhat  in- 
dependently as  regards  the  rest  of  the  cavalry  brig- 
ade, which,  following  the  infantry,  is  away  across  the 
valley,  close  under  the  slopes  and  hillsides  towards 
the  east.  About  nine  in  the  morning,  while  I  am  profit- 
ing by  a  ten-minute  halt  to  jot  in  my  note-book  some 
of  the  surrounding  topographical  features,  my  or- 
derly and  myself  climb  to  the  top  of  the  ridge  on 
our  left,  from  which  a  good  view  of  the  country  is  to 
be  had.  Just  here  the  valley  runs  northeast,  and  we 
have  been  pursuing  that  general  direction  for  the  last 
day's  march  ;  but  right  ahead,  some  two  thousand 
yards,  a  tall  bluff  juts  out  into  the  valley  from  the 
west.  The  river  sweeps  round  its  base  in  a  broad 
fringe  of  cottonwoods,  and  disappears  from  sight  for 
six  or  eight  miles  ;  then,  over  an  intervening  range,  I 


76  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 

see  it  again,  away  to  the  north,  making  straight  for 
what  must  be  the  valley  of  the  Yellowstone.  Be- 
tween that  great  bend  of  the  river  and  the  distant 
bluffs  on  the  eastern  side,  a  broad  plain,  scorched  and 
blistered  by  sun  and  Indian  fire,  stretches  away  some 
two  or  three  miles  in  width.  This  side  of  the  bend 
the  slopes  gradually  near  the  stream,  and  the  picture 
below  me  is  a  very  pretty  one.  Right  under  our 
ridge  the  Fifth  Cavalry,  in  long  column,  is  just  pre- 
paring to  remount  and  move  on.  A  mile  away  to  the 
eastward  are  our  brethren  of  the  Second  and  Third  ; 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  ahead  of  them,  the  compact  bat- 
talion of  infantry.  Here  and  there  groups  of  horses, 
men,  and  a  fluttering  flag  indicate  the  positions  in 
march  of  Generals  Crook  and  Merritt.  Half  a  mile 
in  advance  of  all,  those  little  dots  of  horsemen  are  our 
scouts,  while,  anyhow  and  everywhere,  in  no  order 
whatsoever,  our  Crows  and  Shoshones  are  scattered 
along  the  column  on  one  flank,  while  the  pack-mules 
kick  up  a  thick  dust  on  the  other.  The  cloud  of  dust, 
in  fact,  rises  from  the  whole  column,  and  extends  way 
back  up  the  Rosebud,  and  even  as  I  am  wondering 
how  far  it  can  be  seen,  my  eye  is  attracted  by  just  as 
thick  a  cloud  around  the  point,  apparently  coming  up 
the  valley.  What  the  mischief  can  that  be  ? 

Answering  our  eager  signals,  General  Carr  comes 
hurriedly  up  the  slope  and  levels  his  glass.  It  is 
dust,  sure  enough,  and  lots  of  it.  Nothing  but  an 
immense  concourse  of  four-footed  animals  could  raise 
such  a  cloud.  "  Forward  J"  is  the  order ;  "Indians  or 
buffalo  ?"  is  the  query.  "  Ride  over  and  report  it  to 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK.  77 

General  Merritt,"  says  my  colonel  to  me.  So  "  Don- 
nybrook  "  strikes  a  rapid  lope,  and  we  pick  our  way 
through  the  cottonwoods,  over  the  stream  and  up  the 
low  bank  on  the  other  side,  where  the  first  thing  that 
meets  my  eyes  is  a  grand  hullabaloo  among  the 
Indians,  our  allies.  They  are  whooping  and  yell- 
ing, throwing  blankets  and  superfluous  clothing  to 
the  ground  —  stripping  for  a  fight,  evidently  —  and 
darting  to  and  fro  in  wild  excitement.  Beyond 
them  the  troops  are  massing  in  close  column  be- 
hind some  low  bluffs,  and,  looking  back,  I  see  the 
Fifth  coming  rapidly  through  the  stream  to  join 
them.  Evidently  my  news  is  no  news  to  General 
Merritt  ;  but  the  message  is  delivered  all  the  same, 
and  I  get  permission  to  gallop  ahead  towards  the 
scouts  and  see  what's  coming.  I  make  for  a  bluff 
just  on  the  edge  of  the  plain  I  have  described,  and, 
nearing  it,  can  see  farther  and  farther  around  the 
great  bend.  Our  scouts  and  Indians  are  dash- 
ing around  in  circles,  and  cautiously  approaching 
the  turn.  Another  minute  and  I  have  reached  the 
bluff,  and  there  get  a  grand  view  of  the  coming 
host.  Indians!  I  should  say  so  —  scores  of  them, 
darting  about  in  equal  excitement  to  our  own.  But 
no  Indians  are  they  who  keep  in  close  column  along 
that  fringe  of  trees  ;  no  Indians  are  they  whose  com- 
pact squadrons  are  moving  diagonally  out  across  the 
broad  plain,  taking  equal  intervals,  then  coming 
squarely  towards  us  at  a  rapid  trot.  Then  look  ! 
Each  company,  as  it  comes  forward,  opens  out  like 
the  fan  of  practised  coquette,  and  a  sheaf  of  skir- 


78  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CKOOK. 

mishers  is  launched  to  the  front.  Something  in  the 
snap  and  style  of  the  whole  movement  stamps  them 
at  once.  There  is  no  need  of  fluttering  guidon  and 
stirring  trumpet  -  call  to  identify  them  ;  I  know  the 
Seventh  Cavalry  at  a  glance,  and  swing  my  old  cam- 
paign hat  in  delighted  welcome.  Behind  them  are 
the  solid  regiments  of  Miles  and  Gibbon,  and  long 
trains  of  wagons  and  supplies.  It  is  General  Terry 
and  his  whole  array,  and  our  chiefs  ride  forward  to 
greet  them.  And  then  it  is  that  the  question  is 
asked,  in  comical  perplexity,  "Why,  where  on  earth 
are  the  Indians  ?"  Except  our  allies,  none  are  in 
sight.  They  have  slipped  away  between  us. 


CHAPTER  VII. 
AWAY  TO  THE  YELLOWSTONE. 

NEVER  before,  and  never  since,  has  the  valley  of 
the  Rosebud  beheld  such  a  gathering  as  was  there  to 
be  seen  on  that  brilliant  10th  of  August,  1876  — 
brilliant,  that  is  to  say,  as  nature  could  make  it,  for 
in  General  Crook's  command,  at  least,  there  was  noth- 
ing of  embellishment.  The  war  of  the  Revolution, 
the  huts  of  Valley  Forge,  never  exhibited  so  sombre 
an  array  of  soldiery  as  we  presented  when  General 
Terry  and  his  brigade  confronted  us  at  the  great 
bend. 

It  may  be  said  that  we  were  surprised  at  the  meet- 
ing, and  it  can  be  established  that  they  were  aston- 
ished. Marching  up  the  valley,  General  Terry  was  in 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK.  79 

daily  expectation  of  finding  a  mass  of  Indians  in  his 
front.  At  latest  accounts  they  were  in  strong  force — 
in  thousands,  no  doubt  —  between  him  and  General 
Crook's  position  at  the  base  of  the  Big  Horn,  and 
he  commenced  his  aggressive  move  with  every  pre- 
caution, and  with  supplies  for  a  long  and  stirring 
campaign.  He  had  with  him  a  complete  wagon 
train,  tents  and  equipage  of  every  description.  We 
had  a  few  days'  bacon  and  hard-tack,  coffee  and  su- 
gar, and  a  whole  arsenal  of  ammunition  on  our  mules, 
but  not  a  tent,  and  only  one  blanket  apiece.  He  had 
artillery  in  the  shape  of  a  few  light  field-pieces,  and 
was  making  slow,  cautious  advances  up  the  Rosebud 
at  the  rate  of  eight  or  ten  miles  a  day.  He  had  not 
come  upon  a  single  recent  Indian  "sign,"  yet  knew 
that  the  country  to  the  south  must  have  been  full  of 
them  within  the  fortnight.  So  when  his  scouts  re- 
ported an  immense  cloud  of  dust  coming  down  the 
valley  above  the  bend,  and  his  Indian  allies  began 
the  same  absurd  gyrations  and  uproar  which  we  had 
observed  in  ours,  he  very  naturally  supposed  that  a 
horde  of  hostiles  was  sweeping  down  to  the  attack, 
and  made  his  dispositions  accordingly. 

It  was  my  good-fortune  to  be  in  our  advance,  and 
to  witness  the  beautiful  deployment  of  the  Seventh 
Cavalry  over  the  plains  in  our  front,  and  it  is  hard  to 
say  which  side  would  have  whipped  if  we  had  not 
discovered  that  neither  was  Sioux.  A  report  gained 
credence  later  in  the  day  that  Dr.  Clements,  Crook's 
medical  director,  said  that  it  would  be  Sioux-icidal  to 
fight  under  the  circumstances  ;  but  his  friends  be- 


80  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CEOOK. 

lieved  that  this  eruptiveness  was  due  to  professional 
disappointment  at  the  non  -  employment  of  him- 
self and  his  able  assistants,  and  the  matter  was 
hushed  up. 

Pending  the  solution  of  the  problem  as  to  the 
whereabouts  of  our  common  foe,  the  two  brigades 
were  ordered  to  camp  at  once,  and  make  themselves 
at  home.  The  generals  met  and  discussed  the  situa- 
tion, the  scouts  made  hurried  examination  of  the  sur- 
rounding country,  and  the  mystery  was  at  an  end. 
Leaving  the  valley  of  the  Rosebud  at  the  very  point 
where  our  two  commands  had  confronted  each  other 
on  the  10th,  a  broad  trail  of  recent  date  led  away 
eastward  over  the  divide  towards  Tongue  River. 
The  low  hills  were  stamped  into  dust  by  the  hoofs  of 
countless  ponies.  Sitting  Bull,  Crazy  Horse,  Spotted 
Eagle,  and  the  hosts  of  different  kinds  of  wolves  and 
bears  and  vultures  in  which  their  savage  nomencla- 
ture rejoices,  had  fairly  given  us  the  slip,  and  proba- 
bly ten  thousand  Indians  of  various  ages  and  both 
sexes  had  swarmed  across  Terry's  long  front  on  the 
Yellowstone,  but  beyond  the  range  of  his  scouts. 
That  a  large  portion  of  them  would  attempt  to  cross 
the  great  rivers  farther  to  the  east  and  escape  tow- 
ards the  Canada  line  was  instantly  divined,  and  a 
prompt  man  was  needed  to  head  a  rush  back  to  and 
then  down  the  Yellowstone  to  hold  the  stream  and  its 
crossings  and  check  the  Indian  flight,  while  our  main 
body  pursued  along  the  trail.  In  less  than  an  hour 
General  Miles  had  gone  to  the  right  about  with  his 
regiment  and  the  light  guns,  and  was  making  long 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH   CEOOK.  81 

strides  towards  the  north.  The  world  has  since  read 
of  the  tireless  energy  with  which  this  vigorous  sol- 
dier has  continued  the  work  he  commenced  that  day. 
Winter  and  summer,  from  one  end  of  the  Yellowstone 
valley  to  the  other,  he  has  persistently  and  most  suc- 
cessfully hunted  the  hostiles,  until  his  name  has  be- 
come a  synonym  for  dash  and  good  luck.  Two  of 
his  companies  had  been  stationed  with  us  all  the  pre- 
vious winter  at  Fort  Riley,  in  Kansas,  and  I  was 
eager  to  get  over  to  their  camp  to  see  them  as  soon  as 
my  duties  were  through  ;  but  long  before  our  horses 
were  herded  out  on  the  foot-hills,  and  I  had  seen 
Captain  Montgomery  and  Company  "B"  posted  as 
our  guards,  a  new  column  of  dust  was  rising  down 
the  valley,  and  our  Fifth  Infantry  friends  were  gone. 

The  afternoon  and  evening  were  spent  by  the  offi- 
cers of  the  two  commands  in  pleasant  reunion.  We 
had  nowhere  to  "receive"  and  no  refreshments  to 
offer  ;  so,  by  tacit  agreement,  Terry's  people  became 
the  hosts,  we  the  guests,  and  it  was  fun  to  mark  the 
contrast  in  our  appearance.  General  Terry,  as  be- 
came a  brigadier,  was  attired  in  the  handsome  uni- 
form of  his  rank  ;  his  staff  and  his  line  officers, 
though  looking  eminently  serviceable,  were  all  in 
neat  regimentals,  so  that  shoulder-straps  were  to  be 
seen  in  every  direction. '  General  Crook,  as  became 
an  old  campaigner  and  frontiersman,  was  in  a  rough 
hunting  rig,  and  in  all  his  staff  and  line  there  was  not 
a  complete  suit  of  uniform.  Left  to  our  fancy  in  the 
matter,  we  had  fallen  back  upon  our  comfortable  old 
Arizona  scouting-suits,  and  were  attired  in  deerskin, 
6 


82  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 

buckskin,  flannels,  and  corduroy  ;  but  in  the  Fifth  Cav- 
alry, you  could  not  have  told  officer  from  private.  It 
may  have  been  suitable  as  regarded  Indian  campaign- 
ing, but  was  undeniably  slouchy  and  border-ruffianish. 
It  needed  some  persuasion  to  induce  old  and  intimate 
friends  to  believe  in  our  identity  ;  and  General  Terry's 
engineer  officer  and  his  commissary,  who  had  been 
chosen  "chums"  of  mine  in  West  Point  days,  roared 
with  laughter  at  the  metamorphosis. 

Their  tents  were  brightly  lighted  and  comfortably 
furnished.  Even  the  Seventh  Cavalry  were  housed 
like  Sybarites  to  our  unaccustomed  eyes.  "Great 
guns  !"  said  our  new  major,  almost  exploding  at  a 
revelation  so  preposterous.  "  Look  at  Reno's  tent — 
he's  got  a  Brussels  carpet  !"  But  they  made  us  cor- 
dially welcome,  and  were  civilly  unconscious  of  our 
motley  attire. 

While  the  chieftains  and  their  staffs  discussed  the 
plans  for  the  morrow,  we  unresponsible  juniors  con- 
tentedly accepted  the  situation,  but  by  nine  P.M.  it 
was  known  that  at  early  dawn  we  of  Crook's  com- 
mand were  to  reload  our  pack -mules  with  rations  from 
Terry's  wagons  and  continue  the  pursuit.  Now  it 
began  to  dawn  upon  us  that  we  had  seen  the  last  of 
our  comforts — our  wagons,  tents,  beds,  and  clothing — 
for  an  indefinite  period  ;  and  in  Indian  warfare  par- 
ticularly, is  a  stern  chase  a  long  chase  —  unless  you 
have  the  lead  at  start. 

That  night  we  were  bivouacked  in  the  thick  under- 
brush along  the  Rosebud,  hugging  the  tortuous  bends 
of  the  stream,  and  as  much  as  possible  keeping  our 


CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CEOOK.  83 

herds  between  our  lines  and  the  river.  Suddenly  the 
stillness  was  broken  by  a  snort  of  terror  among  the 
horses  ;  then  a  rush  as  of  a  mighty  Avhirlwind, 
the  crash  of  a  thousand  hoofs,  a  shot  or  two,  and 
the  shouts  of  excited  men,  and  the  herds  of  Compa- 
nies "  A,"  "  B,"  and  "  M  "  disappeared  in  a  twinkling. 
Seized  by  some  sudden  and  unaccountable  panic,  they 
had  snapped  their  "side  lines"  like  pack-thread,  torn 
their  picket -pins  from  the  loose,  powdery  soil,  and 
with  one  wild  dash  had  cleared  the  company  lines, 
and,  tracked  by  the  dying  thunder  of  their  hoofs, 
were  fleeing  for  dear  life  far  to  the  westward.  Offi- 
cers and  men  sprang  to  arms,  anticipating  attack 
from  Indians.  Many  of  the  First  Battalion  had  been 
trampled  and  bruised  in  the  stampede  ;  but  in  a  mo- 
ment a  dozen  experienced  campaigners  were  in  saddle 
and  off  in  pursuit,  and  towards  morning,  after  miles 
of  hard  riding,  the  runaways  were  skilfully  "  herded  " 
back  to  camp.  But  the  night's  adventure  cost  us  the 
services  of  one  of  our  very  best  officers,  as  Lieuten- 
ant Eaton's  pistol  was  accidentally  discharged  in  the 
rush,  and  tore  off  a  portion  of  the  index  finger  of  his 
right  hand. 

The  following  morning,  August  llth,  was  by  Gen- 
eral Crook's  people,  at  least,  spent  in  drawing  rations 
from  the  wagons  of  Terry's  command.  At  ten  o'clock 
our  pack-mules  were  again  loaded  up,  and  by  eleven 
the  Fifth  Cavalry  were  filing  eastwardly  out  of  the 
valley  ;  marched  rapidly  on  the  Indian  trail,  found  the 
valley  of  the  Tongue  River  only  nine  miles  away 
across  a  picturesque  divide,  descended  into  a  thickly 


84  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 

timbered  bottom,  marched  only  a  couple  of  miles 
down  stream,  and  there  received  orders  to  halt,  biv- 
ouac again,  and  were  told  to  wait  for  Terry's  com- 
mand to  join  us.  We  moved  into  a  dense  grove  of 
timber — lofty  and  corpulent  old  cottonwoods.  Com- 
pany "  D  "  (Sumner's)  posted  its  guards  and  pickets, 
and  the  rest  of  us  became  interested  in  the  great 
quantity  of  Indian  pictures  and  hieroglyphics  on  the 
trees.  We  were  camping  on  a  favorite  "stamping- 
ground"  of  theirs,  evidently,  for  the  trees  were 
barked  in  every  direction  for  some  distance  from  the 
ground,  and  covered  with  specimens  of  aboriginal 
art.  Sketches  of  warriors  scalping  soldiers,  carrying 
off  women  on  horseback,  hunting  buffalo,  etc.,  but 
with  the  perceptible  preference  for  the  stirring 
scenes  of  soldier  fighting.  That  had  become  more 
popular  than  ever  since  the  Ouster  massacre.  While 
examining  these  specimens,  I  was  attracted  by  a  shout 
and  the  gathering  of  a  knot  of  soldiers  around  some 
fallen  timber.  Joining  them,  and  stepping  over  the 
low  barrier  of  logs,  I  came  upon  the  body  of  a  white 
man,  unscalped,  who  had  evidently  made  a  desperate 
fight  for  life,  as  the  ground  was  covered  with  the 
shells  of  his  cartridges  ;  but  a  bullet  through  the 
brain  had  finally  laid  him  low,  and  his  savage  foeman 
had  left  him  as  he  fell,  probably  a  year  before  we 
came  upon  the  spot. 

Towards  sunset  the  clouds  that  had  gathered  all 
day,  and  sprinkled  us  early  in  the  afternoon,  opened 
their  flood-gates,  and  the  rain  came  down  in  torrents. 
We  built  Indian  "  wickyups  "  of  saplings  and  elastic 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK.  85 

twigs,  threw  ponchos  and  blankets  over  them,  and 
crawled  under  ;  but  'twas  no  use.  Presently  the 
whole  country  was  flooded,  and  we  built  huge  fires, 
huddled  around  them  in  the  squashy  mud,  and  envied 
our  horses,  who  really  seemed  pleased  at  the  change. 
General  Terry  and  his  cavalry  and  infantry  marched 
past  our  bivouac  early  in  the  evening,  went  on  down 
stream,  and  camped  somewhere  among  the  timber  be- 
low. We  got  through  the  night,  I  don't  remember 
how,  exactly  ;  and  my  note-book  is  not  very  full  of 
detail  of  this  and  the  next  four  days.  We  would 
have  been  wetter  still  on  the  following  morning — 
Saturday,  the  12th  —  if  we  could  have  been,  for  it 
rained  too  hard  to  inarch,  and  we  hugged  our  camp- 
fires  until  one  P.M.,  when  it  gave  signs  of  letting  up 
a  little  and  we  saddled  and  marched  away  down  the 
Tongue  ten  or  eleven  miles,  by  which  time  it  was 
nearly  dark,  raining  harder  than  ever.  General  Carr 
and  Mr.  Barbour  Lathrop  (the  correspondent  of  the 
San  Francisco  Call,  w^ho  had  turned  out  to  be  an  old 
acquaintance  of  some  older  friends  of  mine,  and  whose 
vivacity  was  unquenchable,  even  by  such  weather  as 
this)  made  a  double  wickyup  under  the  only  tree 
there  was  on  the  open  plain  on  which  we  camped  for 
the  night,  and,  seeing  what  looked  to  be  a  little 
bunch  of  timber  through  the  mist  a  few  hundred 
yards  away,  I  went  to  prospect  for  a  lodging  ;  found 
it  to  be  one  of  the  numerous  aerial  sepulchres  of  the 
Sioux,  which  we  had  been  passing  for  the  last  four 
'days — evidences  that  Ouster's  dying  fight  was  not  so 
utterly  one-sided,  after  all.  But,  unattractive  as  this 


86  CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK. 

was  for  a  mortal  dwelling-place,  its  partial  shelter  was 
already  pre-empted,  and,  like  hundreds  of  others,  I 
made  an  open  night  of  it. 

Sunday  morning  we  pushed  on  again,  wet  and  be- 
draggled. No  hope  of  catching  the  Sioux  now,  but 
we  couldn't  turn  back.  The  valley  was  filled  with 
the  parallel  columns  —  Crook's  and  Terry's  —  cavalry 
and  infantry  marching  side  by  side.  We  made  fre- 
quent halts  in  the  mud  and  rain  ;  and  during  one  of 
these  I  had  a  few  moments'  pleasant  chat  with  Gen- 
eral Gibbon,  who,  as  usual,  had  a  host  of  reminis- 
cences of  the  grand  old  Iron  Brigade  to  speak  of,  and 
many  questions  to  ask  of  his  Wisconsin  comrades.  It 
was  the  one  bright  feature  of  an  otherwise  dismal 
day.  At  4.50  P.M.  the  columns  are  halted  for  the 
night,  and  the  cavalry  lose  not  a  moment  in  hunting 
grass  for  their  horses.  Fortunately  it  is  abundant 
here,  and  of  excellent  quality  ;  and  this  adds  force  to 
the  argument  that  the  Indians  must  have  scattered. 
The  scouts  still  prate  of  big  trails  ahead  ;  but  our 
horses  are  becoming  weak  for  want  of  grain,  our  Ind- 
ian allies  are  holding  big  pow-wows  every  evening, 
the  Crows  still  talk  war  and  extermination  to  the 
Sioux,  but  the  Shoshones  have  never  been  so  far  away 
from  home  in  their  lives,  and  begin  to  weaken.  Several 
of  them  urge  additional  reasons  indicative  of  the  fact 
that  the  ladies  of  the  tribe  are  not  regarded  by  their 
lords  as  above  suspicion  in  times  of  such  prolonged 
absence.  That  evening  Captains  Weir  and  McDou- 
gall,  of  the  Seventh  Cavalry,  spent  an  hour  or  so 
at  our  fire,  and  gave  us  a  detailed  account  of  their 


CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CKOOK.  87 

on  the  25th,  on  the  Little  Big  Horn.  They  were  with 
Reno  on  the  bluffs,  and  had  no  definite  knowledge  of 
the  fate  of  Ouster  and  his  five  companies  until  high 
noon  on  the  27th,  when  relieved  by  General  Gibbon. 
Then  they  rode  at  once  to  the  field,  and  came  upon 
the  remains  of  their  comrades. 

"  It  must  have  been  a  terrible  sensation  when  you 
first  caught  sight  of  them,"  said  one  of  their  listeners. 

"Well,  no,"  replied  McDougall.  "In  fact,  the 
first  thought  that  seemed  to  strike  every  man  of  us, 
and  the  first  words  spoken  were,  'How  white  they 
look  !'  We  knew  what  to  expect,  of  course  ;  and 
they  had  lain  there  stripped  for  nearly  forty  -  eight 
hours." 

That  night  the  rain  continued,  and  at  daybreak  on 
the  14th  the  Fifth  Cavalry  got  up  and  spent  an  hour 
or  so  in  vain  attempts  at  wringing  the  wet  from  blan- 
ket and  overcoat.  By  7.15  we  all  moved  northward 
again,  though  I  could  see  scouts  far  out  on  the  low 
hills  on  our  right  flank.  For  half  an  hour  we  of  the 
Fifth  marched  side  by  side  with  the  Seventh,  and  our 
gaunt  horses  and  ragged  -  looking  riders  made  but  a 
poor  appearance  in  such  society.  Nearing  a  ford  of 
the  Tongue  River,  we  found  some  little  crowding  and 
confusion.  The  heads  of  columns  were  approaching 
the  same  point  upon  the  bank,  and  we  were  just  about 
hunting  for  a  new  ford  when  the  Seventh  Cavalry 
made  a  rapid  oblique,  and  Major  Reno  doffed  his 
straw  hat  to  General  Carr,  with  the  intimation  that 
we  had  the  "right  of  way"  —  a  piece  of  courtesy 
which  our  commander  did  not  fail  to  acknowledge. 


88  CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK. 

Another  ford,  from  the  left  bank  this  time,  and  be- 
fore us,  coming  in  from  the  east,  is  a  valley  bounded 
by  low,  rolling  hills  for  a  few  miles,  but  farther  to  the 
eastward  we  note  that  high  bulwarks  of  rock  are 
thrown  up  against  the  sky.  Into  this  valley  we  turn  ; 
the  grass  is  good,  the  water  is  all  too  plentiful ;  occa- 
sional fallen  trees  in  the  stream  promise  fuel  in  abun- 
dance ;  but  we  look  somewhat  wistfully  down  the 
Tongue,  for  not  more  than  fifteen  miles  away  rolls 
the  Yellowstone.  And  now  once  more,  as  the  rain 
comes  down  in  torrents,  we  unsaddle,  turn  our  horses 
out  to  graze,  Kellogg  and  Company  "  I "  are  posted 
as  guards,  and  we  wonder  what  is  going  to  be  done. 
Only  noon,  and  only  ten  miles  have  we  come  from 
last  camp.  Colonel  Royall  marches  his  "brigade" 
farther  up  stream  and  follows  our  example,  and  then 
comes  over  to  exchange  commiserations  with  Gen- 
eral Carr.  The  veterans  are  neither  of  them  in  best 
possible  humor.  A  story  is  going  the  rounds  about 
Royall  that  does  us  all  good,  even  in  that  dismal 
weather.  A  day  or  two  before,  so  it  was  told, 
Royall  ordered  one  of  his  battalion  commanders  to 
"  put  that  battalion  in  camp  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river,  facing  east."  A  prominent  and  well-known 
characteristic  of  the  subordinate  officer  referred  to 
was  a  tendency  to  split  hairs,  discuss  orders,  and,  in 
fine,  to  make  trouble  where  there  was  a  ghost  of  a 
chance  of  so  doing  unpunished.  Presently  the  colo- 
nel saw  that  his  instructions  were  not  being  carried 
out,  and,  not  being  in  a  mood  for  indirect  action,  he 
put  spurs  to  his  horse,  dashed  through  the  stream, 


CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CKOOK.  89 

and  reined  up  alongside  the  victim  with,  "Didn't 
I  order  you,  sir,  to  put  your  battalion  in  camp  along 
the  river — facing  east  ?" 

"Yes,  sir  ;  but  this  ain't  a  river.  It's  only  a 
creek." 

"  Creek  be  d — d,  sir  !  It's  a  river  —  a  river  from 
this  time  forth,  by  order,  sir.  Now  do  as  I  tell 
you." 

There  was  no  further  delay. 

All  that  day  and  night  we  lay  along  Pumpkin 
Creek.  "  Squashy  Creek  "  was  suggested  as  a  name 
at  once  more  descriptive  and  appropriate.  The  soil 
was  like  sponge  from  the  continuous  rain.  At  day- 
break it  was  still  raining,  and  we  mounted  and  rode 
away  eastward  —  Terry  and  Crook,  cavalry  and  in- 
fantry, pack-mules  and  all,  over  an  unmistakable  Ind- 
ian trail  that  soon  left  the  Pumpkin,  worked  through 
the  "  malpais,"  and  carried  us  finally  to  the  crest  of 
a  high,  commanding  ridge,  from  which  we  could  see 
the  country  in  every  direction  for  miles.  The  rain 
held  up  a  while — not  long  enough  for  us  to  get  dry, 
but  to  admit  of  our  looking  about  and  becoming  con- 
vinced of  the  desolation  of  our  surroundings.  The 
trail  grew  narrow  and  more  tortuous,  plunged  down 
into  a  canon  ahead,  and  as  we  left  the  crest  I  glanced 
back  for  a  last  view  of  the  now  distant  valley  of  the 
Tongue.  What  it  might  be  in  beautiful  weather  no 
words  of  mine  would  accurately  describe,  because 
at  such  times  I  have  not  seen  it.  What  it  is  in  rainy 
weather  no  words  could  describe.  And  yet  it  was 
comfort  compared  to  what  was  before  us. 


90  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CKOOK. 

At  noon  we  were  gazing  out  over  the  broad  valley 
of  Powder  River,  the  Chakadee  Wakpa  of  the  Sioux. 
Below  us  the  Mizpah,  flowing  from  the  southwest, 
made  junction  with  the  broader  stream,  and  we, 
guided  by  our  Indians,  forded  both  above  the  conflu- 
ence, and  went  on  down  the  valley.  And  so  it  was 
for  two  more  days  ;  rain,  mud,  wet,  and  cold.  Ra- 
tions were  soaked  ;  and  we,  who  had  nothing  but  salt 
meat  and  hard  -  tack,  began  to  note  symptoms  of 
scurvy  among  the  men.  But  we  were  pushing  for  sup- 
plies now.  The  Indians  had  scattered  up  every  val- 
ley to  the  eastward  ;  their  pony  -  tracks  led  in  myr- 
iads over  the  prairie  slopes  east  of  the  Powder.  We 
could  go  no  farther  without  sustenance  of  some 
kind,  and  so,  on  the  afternoon  of  Thursday,  the 
17th,  we  toiled  down  to  the  valley  of  the  Yellow- 
stone and  scattered  in  bivouac  along  its  ugly,  muddy 
banks.  The  rain  ceased  for  a  while,  but  not  a  boat 
was  in  sight,  no  news  from  home,  no  mail,  no  sup- 
plies—  nothing  but  dirt  and  discomfort.  We  could 
only  submit  to  the  inevitable,  and  wait. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

AGAIN   ON   THE   TRAIL. 

OUR  first  impressions  of  the  Yellowstone,  as  seen 
from  the  mouth  of  the  Powder  River,  were  dismal  in 
the  last  degree  ;  but  it  was  an  undoubted  case  of 
"  any  port  in  a  storm."  General  Terry's  supply  boat 
put  in  a  prompt  appearance  and  we  drew  rations 


CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK.  91 

again  on  Friday  and  received  intimations  that  we 
might  move  at  any  moment.  "Which  way?"  was 
the  not  unnatural  question,  and  "Don't  know"  the 
laconic  yet  comprehensive  answer. 

The  rain  that  had  deluged  us  on  the  march  down  the 
valleys  of  the  Tongue  and  Powder  had  ceased  from 
sheer  exhaustion,  and  we  strove  to  dry  our  overcoats 
and  blankets  at  big  fires  built  in  the  timber.  We  had 
signalized  our  meeting  with  Terry's  command  by  a 
royal  bonfire  which  lit  up  the  country  by  night  and 
poured  a  huge  column  of  smoke  skywards  by  day  ; 
but  as  it  was  contrary  to  orders,  and  a  most  vivid 
indication  of  our  position,  Colonel  Mason's  battalion 
received  a  scathing  rebuke  for  carelessness,  and  Ma- 
son was  mad  enough  to  follow  the  lead  of  the  his- 
toric Army  of  Flanders.  A  most  conscientious  and 
faithful  officer,  it  seemed  to  sting  him  to  the  quick 
that  any  one  of  his  companies  should  have  been 
guilty  of  such  recklessness.  So  the  day  after  we 
reached  the  Yellowstone,  and  the  horses  of  the  regi- 
ments were  all  grazing  out  along  the  prairie  slopes 
south  of  camp,  and  revelling  in  the  rich  and  plenti- 
ful buffalo  grass,  while  all  officers  and  men  not  on 
guard  were  resting  along  the  banks  of  the  stream, 
and  growling  at  the  vigorous  gale  that  swept  down 
from  the  north  and  whirled  the  sand  in  one's  eyes, 
there  came  a  sudden  shout  of  fire,  and  Major  Upham 
and  I,  who  were  trying  to  make  a  "  wickyup  "  that 
would  exclude  the  wind,  became  aware  of  a  column 
of  flame  and  smoke  rolling  up  in  the  very  centre  of 
his  battalion.  In  a  moment  it  became  evident  that 


92  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CKOOK. 

the  biggest  kind  of  a  prairie  fire  was  started.  The 
men  of  Company  "  I "  were  hurrying  their  arms  and 
equipments  to  the  windward  side,  and  as  one  man  the 
rest  of  the  regiment  came  running  to  the  scene,  swing- 
ing their  saddle-blankets  in  air. 

Fanned  by  the  hurricane  blowing  at  the  time,  the 
flames  swept  over  the  ground  with  the  force  of  a  blast- 
furnace ;  tufts  of  burning  grass  were  driven  before 
the  great  surging  wave  of  fire,  and,  falling  far  out  on 
the  prairie,  became  the  nuclei  of  new  conflagrations. 
Fire  -  call  was  promptly  sounded  by  the  chief  trum- 
peter, and  repeated  along  the  lines.  The  distant 
herds  were  rapidly  moved  off  to  right  and  left,  and 
hurried  in  towards  the  river.  The  whole  command 
that  was  in  bivouac  west  of%  the  Powder  River  turned 
out  to  fight  the  common  enemy  ;  but  in  ten  minutes, 
in  all  the  might  of  its  furious  strength,  a  grand  con- 
flagration was  sweeping  southward  towards  the  roll- 
ing hills,  and  consuming  all  before  it. 

Like  the  great  Chicago  fire,  it  started  from  a  cause 
trivial  enough,  but,  spreading  out  right  and  left,  it  soon 
had  a  front  of  over  half  a  mile,  and  not  till  it  had 
run  fully  two  miles  to  the  south  was  it  finally  checked. 
Captain  Hayes  and  a  party  of  old  and  experienced 
hands  "  raced  "  it  far  out  to  the  front,  and,  there  set- 
ting fire  to  the  grass,  extinguishing  it  from  the  south 
and  forcing  it  back  against  the  wind,  they  succeeded 
after  much  hard  work  in  burning  off  a  number  of 
large  areas  in  front  of  the  advancing  wall  of  flame, 
fought  fire  with  fire,  and  in  two  hours  were  masters 
of  the  situation.  But  most  of  our  grass  was  gone; 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK.  93 

and  Saturday  afternoon,  at  four  o'clock,  we  of  the  Fifth 
saddled  and  marched  up  the  Yellowstone  in  search  of 
fresh  pasture.  A  mile  was  all  we  had  to  go,  and  mov- 
ing was  no  trouble  to  men  who  had  neither  roof  nor 
furniture. 

We  rode  into  line  in  the  river  bottom  again.  Gen- 
eral Carr,  with  the  headquarters  party,  seized  upon  a 
huge  log  at  least  a  yard  in  diameter  that  lay  close  to 
the  river  brink  ;  and  with  this  as  a  backbone  we  built 
such  rude  shelter  as  could  be  made  with  leaves, 
boughs,  and  a  ragged  poncho  or  two,  crawled  in  and 
made  our  beds  upon  the  turf.  General  Merritt  and 
his  staff  found  shelter  in  a  little  grove  a  few  yards 
away,  and  with  the  coming  of  Sunday  morning  all 
had  enjoyed  a  good  rest. 

Meantime  we  learned  that  Buffalo  Bill  had  ridden 
all  alone  down  towards  the  Glendive,  bent  on  a  scout 
to  ascertain  if  the  Indians  were  attempting  to  cross 
the  river.  I  did  not  envy  him  the  peril  of  that  sixty- 
mile  jaunt  through  the  Bad  Lands,  bu  it  was  an  old 
story  to  him.  We  were  to  remain  in  camp  to  await 
his  report.  It  seemed  that  nothing  definite  had  been 
ascertained  as  to  the  movements  of  the  Indians  ;  and 
for  five  days  we  rested  there  on  the  Yellowstone,  noth- 
ing of  interest  transpiring,  and  nothing  of  especial 
pleasure. 

General  Carr,  to  keep  us  from  rusting,  ordered  in- 
spection and  mounted  drills  on  Sunday  and  Monday 
morning  ;  but  then  the  rain  came  back,  and  for  forty- 
eight  hours  we  were  fairly  afloat.  It  rained  so  hard 
Tuesday  and  Wednesday  nights  that  the  men  gave  up 


94  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 

all  idea  of  sleep,  built  great  fires  along  the  banks,  and 
clustered  round  them  for  warmth.  Shelter  there  was 
none.  Some  of  our  officers  and  men,  who  had  broken 
down  in  the  severity  of  the  ordeal,  were  examined  by 
the  surgeons,  and  those  who  were  deemed  too  sick  for 
service  were  ordered  home  on  the  steamer  Far  West, 
which  would  take  them  by  river  as  far  as  Bismarck. 
Among  them  was  Captain  Goodloe,  of  the  Twenty- 
second  Infantry,  who  had  been  prostrated  by  a  para- 
lytic stroke  on  the  last  day's  march  towards  the  Yel- 
lowstone ;  and  of  our  own  regiment  we  were  forced 
to  part  with  Lieutenant  Eaton,  whose  severe  hurt,  re- 
ceived the  night  of  the  stampede  on  the  Rosebud, 
had  proved  disabling  for  campaign  work.  At  this 
time,  too,  some  of  our  newspaper  correspondents  con- 
cluded that  the  chances  of  a  big  fight  were  too  small 
to  justify  their  remaining  longer  with  so  unlucky  an 
expedition,  and  the  representative  of  the  San  Fran- 
cisco Call,  and  an  odd  genius  who  had  joined  us  at 
Fort  Fetterman,  and  speedily  won  the  sobriquet  of 
l<  Calamity  Jim,"  concluded  that  their  services  would 
be  worth  more  in  some  other  field. 

A  great  loss  to  us  was  in  Buffalo  Bill,  whose  theat- 
rical engagements  demanded  his  presence  in  the  East 
early  in  the  fall  ;  and  most  reluctantly  he,  too,  was 
compelled  to  ask  his  release.  He  left  his  "  pardner," 
Jim  White,  with  us  to  finish  the  campaign  ;  and  we 
little  thought  that  those  two  sworn  friends  were  meet- 
ing for  the  last  time  on  earth  when  "Buffalo  Chips" 
bade  good-bye  to  Buffalo  Bill. 

Ten  soldiers  of  the  Fifth  were  pronounced  inca- 


CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CEOOK.  95 

pacitated  by  the  examiners,  and  ordered  to  return. 
Among  them  was  an  elderly  man  who  had  joined  the 
regiment  in  June  with  a  good  character  from  the 
Fourth  Cavalry.  The  Ouster  massacre  had  so  preyed 
upon  his  mind  as  to  temporarily  destroy  his  intellect, 
or  make  it  too  keen  for  the  wits  of  the  Medical  De- 
partment. I  believe  that  up  to  the  last  moment  it 
was  an  open  question  whether  Caniff  (for  such  was 
his  name)  was  downright  insane  or  only  shamming  ; 
but  he  carried  his  point,  and  got  away  from  the  dan- 
ger he  dreaded.  "But,  Lord,  sir,"  as  the  corporal  in 
charge  of  the  detachment  afterwards  told  me,  "he 
was  the  sensiblest  man  you  ever  see  by  the  time 
we  got  past  Bismarck."  In  fact,  it  would  look  as 
though  that  Ouster  massacre  had  been  responsible  for 
the  unmanning  of  just  three  members  of  the  Fifth 
Cavalry  ;  and,  to  the  ineffable  disgust  of  the  vete- 
ran Company  "  K,"  two  of  them  were  privates  in  its 
ranks. 

Our  stay  of  six  days  on  the  Yellowstone  presented 
no  features  of  general  interest.  A  brace  of  trading- 
boats  swept  down  with  the  current  from  the  markets 
of  the  Gallatin  valley,  and  some  of  us  were  able  to 
purchase,  at  fabulous  prices,  new  suits  of  undercloth- 
ing and  a  quantity  of  potatoes  and  onions,  of  which 
the  men  stood  sadly  in  need.  More  supplies  of  grain 
and  rations  arrived,  and  our  horses  had  a  few  nibbles 
of  oats,  but  not  enough  to  build  up  any  of  their  lost 
strength.  General  Terry,  from  the  east  side  of  the 
Powder,  rode  over  one  day  to  pay  a  visit  to  General 
Crook  ;  and  the  story  goes  that  our  brigadier  was 


CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 

pointed  out  to  him  squatted  on  a  rock  in  the  Yel- 
lowstone, and  with  that  absorbed  manner  which 
was  his  marked  characteristic,  and  a  disregard  for 
"style"  never  before  equalled  in  the  history  of 
one  of  his  rank,  scrubbing  away  at  his  hunting- 
shirt. 

Thursday  morning,  August  the  24th,  chilled  and 
soaked,  we  marched  away  from  the  Yellowstone,  and 
mostly  on  foot,  leading  our  gaunt  horses  through  the 
thick  mud  of  the  slopes  along  the  Powder,  we  toiled 
some  ten  miles  ;  then  halted  for  the  night.  Then  it 
cleared  off,  and  night  came  on  in  cloudless  beauty, 
but  sharply  cold.  Next  morning  we  hung  about  our 
fires  long  after  our  frugal  breakfast,  waiting  for  the 
signal  to  saddle  and  march.  Trumpet-calls  were  for- 
bidden "  until  further  orders  ;"  and  it  was  divined 
that  now,  at  least,  we  might  hope  to  see  the  Indians 
who  had  led  us  this  exasperating  chase.  But  it 
was  long  before  we  reached  them,  and  this  narrative 
is  running  threadbare  with  dry  detail.  Let  me  con- 
dense from  my  note-book  the  route  and  incidents  of 
the  march  to  Heart  River,  where  we  finally  gave  up 
the  chase  : 

"  General  Terry's  cavalry  —  Seventh  and  Second  — 
followed  us  on  the  march  of  the  25th,  after  we  had 
forded  Powder  River  and  started  up  the  eastern 
bank  ;  camped  again  that  night  in  the  valley  after 
long  and  muddy  march.  At  seven  A.M.  on  the  26th  we 
of  Crook's  army  cut  loose  from  any  base,  and  marched 
square  to  the  east;  and  General  Terry,  with  his  en- 
tire command,  bade  us  farewell,  and  hurried  back  to 


CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK.  97 

the  Yellowstone.  Couriers  had  reached  him  during 
the  night  with  important  information,  and  he  and  his 
people  were  needed  along  the  crossings  of  the  great 
river  while  we  hunted  the  redskins  over  the  prairies. 
The  weather  was  lovely,  the  country  rolling  and  pict- 
uresque ;  but  far  and  near  the  Indians  had  burned 
away  the  grass.  Camped  on  the  west  fork  of  O'Fal- 
lon's  Creek.  Game  abundant  all  around  us,  but  no 
firing  allowed."  .... 

"  Sunday,  Nth. — Marched  seven  A.M.  at  rear  of  col- 
umn, north  of  east ;  rolling  country  ;  no  timber  ;  little 
grass  ;  crossed  large  branch  of  O'Fallon's  Creek  at 
eleven  A.M.,  where  some  pack-mules  were  stalled,  but 
finally  got  through.  Bivouac  one  P.M.  in  dry  east  fork 
of  same  creek."  .... 

"  Monday,  28th.  —  Day  beautiful  and  cool  ;  march 
rapid  and  pleasant  along  the  trail  on  which  Terry 
and  Custer  came  west  in  May  and  June.  Country 
beautifully  bold  and  undulating,  with  fine  grass  ev- 
erywhere. We  halted  on  Cabin  Creek  at  1.30  P.M.  ; 
and  two  hours  after,  over  in  the  direction  of  Beaver 
Creek  to  the  northeast,  two  large  smokes  floated  up 
into  the  still  air.  Just  at  sunset  there  came  on  a 
thunder-storm,  with  rain,  hail,  and  vivid  lightning — 
hailstones  as  big  as  acorns,  and  so  plentifully  pelting 
that  with  great  difficulty  we  restrained  our  horses 
from  stampede.  The  lightning  kindled  the  prairie 
just  in  front  of  the  pickets,  and  the  rain  came  only  in 
time  to  save  our  grass.  Of  course,  we  were  drenched 
with  rain  and  hammered  with  hail." 

"  Tuesday,  29th. — Most  beautiful  day's  march  yet ; 
7 


98  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 

morning  lovely  after  the  storm.  We  move  rapidly 
on  trail  of  the  infantry,  and  at  ten  o'clock  are  aston- 
ished at  seeing  them  massing  in  close  column  by  di- 
vision on  the  southwest  side  of  grassy  slopes  that  loom 
up  to  a  great  height,  and  were  soon  climbing  the 
bluffs  beyond  them — an  ascent  of  some  five  to  six 
hundred  feet."  .... 

Here  General  Merritt  gave  the  regiment  a  lesson 
which  it  richly  deserved.  Fuel  had  been  a  little 
scarce  on  one  or  two  recent  occasions  ;  and  some  of 
the  men,  finding  a  few  logs  at  the  foot  of  the  bluffs, 
hoisted  them  on  their  tottering  horses,  and  were 
clambering  in  this  fashion  up  the  ascent,  when  the 
"Chief"  caught  sight  of  them.  The  general  is  a 
man,  of  great  restraint  at  such  a  time,  but,  with- 
out the  employment  of  language  either  profane  or 
profuse,  he  managed  to  convey  an  intimation  to  some 
eighty  acres  of  hillside,  in  less  than  five  seconds,  that 
those  logs  should  be  dropped  ;  and  they  were.  Later 
in  the  day  he  devoted  a  half -hour  to  the  composition 
of  a  general  order  expressive  at  once  of  his  views  on 
the  matter  which  had  excited  his  wrath  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  his  intentions  with  reference  to  future  offend- 
ers. Winding  up,  as  it  did,  with  a  scathing  denunci- 
ation of  this  "violation  of  the  first  principles"  of  a 
cavalryman's  creed,  we  of  the  Fifth  felt  sore  for  a 
week  after  ;  but  it  served  us  right,  and  the  offence 
did  not  occur  again. 

We  found  ourselves  on  the  crest  of  a  magnificent 
range,  from  which  we  looked  down  into  the  beautiful 
valley  of  the  Beaver  to  the  east,  and  southward  over 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK.  99 

mile  after  mile  of  sharp,  conical  buttes  that  were  ut- 
terly unlike  anything  we  had  seen  before.  We  had 
abundant  water  and  grass,  and  here  we  rested  two 
days,  while  our  scouts  felt  their  way  out  towards  the 
Little  Missouri. 

Thursday,  the  31st,  with  a  cold  norther  blowing, 
we  went  down  the  Beaver  ten  miles  to  the  north, 
halted  and  conducted  the  bi  -  monthly  muster  de- 
manded by  the  regulations,  and  again  the  scouts 
swept  over  the  country  in  vain  search  of  Indian  signs, 
while  we  waited  until  late  the  following  afternoon  for 
their  reports,  and  then  merely  moved  down  the  valley 
another  eight  miles  for  the  night.  On  the  2d  we  put 
in  a  good  day's  work,  marching  rapidly  and  steadily 
until  two  P.M.,  still  in  the  beautiful  wild  valley  of  the 
Beaver,  catching  glimpses  during  the  day  of  the  tall 
Sentinel  Buttes  off  to  our  right.  Next  day  we  turned 
square  to  the  east  again,  jogging  quickly  along 
through  hills  and  upland  that  grew  bolder  and  higher 
every  hour  ;  camped  at  head  of  Andrew's  Creek  ; 
pushed  on  again  on  the  following  morning  (Mon- 
day, September  4th),  cold  and  shivering  in  another 
norther- — by  nine  the  rain  pouring  in  torrents. 
As  we  neared  the  Little  Missouri  the  hills  became 
higher,  outcroppings  of  coal  were  to  be  seen  along 
every  mile.  Finally,  we  debouched  through  a  long, 
deep,  tortuous  canon  into  the  Little  Missouri  itself, 
forded  and  bivouacked  in  a  fine  grove  of  timber, 
where,  the  rain  having  ceased  again,  and  with  fine, 
blazing  fires  in  every  direction,  we  spent  a  night  of 
comfort. 


100  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 

The  Indians  must  be  near  at  hand.  The  timber, 
the  valley,  the  fords  and  crossings,  all  indicate  their 
recent  presence.  To-morrow's  sun  should  bring  them 
before  our  eyes.  At  daybreak  we  are  up  and  ready. 
The  day  is  drizzly,  and  the  command  don't  seem  to 
care  a  pin  by  this  time.  We  are  becoming  amphib- 
ious, and  so  long  as  the  old  cavalryman  has  a  quid  of 
good  tobacco  to  stow  in  his  taciturn  jaws  he  will 
jog  along  contentedly  for  hours,  though  the  rain  de- 
scend in  cataracts. 

Our  march  leads  us  southeastward  up  the  valley  of 
Davis's  Creek — a  valley  that  grows  grandly  beautiful 
as  we  near  its  head.  We  of  the  Fifth  are  some  dis- 
tance from  the  head  of  column  as  we  climb  out  upon 
the  fine  plateau  that  here  stretches  for  miles  from  the 
head  of  the  creek  towards  the  streams  that  rise  a 
day's  march  away  and  flow  towards  the  Missouri. 
Away  in  front  we  can  see  General  Crook  and  his 
staff  ;  far  out  beyond  them  are  tiny  dots  of  horse- 
men, whom  we  know  to  be  Stanton  and  the  scouts. 
Every  now  and  then  a  deer  darts  into  sight  along  the 
column,  and  now  permission  is  given  to  shoot  ;  for  we 
are  over  a  hundred  miles  from  the  nearest  chance  for 
supplies,  and  have  only  two  days'  rations  left.  We  are 
following  those  Indians  to  the  bitter  end. 

Suddenly,  away  to  the  front,  rapid  shots  are  heard. 
A  moment  they  sound  but  a  mile  distant ;  in  another 
moment  they  are  dying  out  of  hearing.  We  prick  up 
our  ears  and  gather  reins.  Looking  back,  I  see  the 
long  column  of  bearded  faces  lighting  up  in  eager  ex- 
pectation, but  no  order  comes  to  hasten  our  advance. 


CAMPAIGNING 

We  hear  later  that  our  scouts  had  succeeded  in  get- 
ting near  enough  to  exchange  shots  with  a  small  war- 
party  of  Sioux  ;  but  their  ponies  were  fresh  and  fleet, 
our  horses  weak  and  jaded,  and  there  was  no  possibil- 
ity of  catching  them. 

Late  that  afternoon  we  halt  at  the  head  of  Heart 
River.  And  now  at  last  it  looks  as  though  we  are 
whipped  without  a  fight.  We  not  only  have  not 
caught  the  Indians,  but  we  have  run  out  of  rations. 
Only  forty  -  eight  hours'  full  supplies  are  left,  but  a 
little  recent  economizing  has  helped  us  to  a  spare  day 
or  so  on  half-rations.  It  is  hard  for  us,  but  hardest  of 
all  for  the  general,  and  it  is  plain  that  he  is  deeply  dis- 
appointed. But  action  is  required,  and  at  once.  We  can 
easily  make  Fort  Abraham  Lincoln  in  four  days  ;  but, 
by  doing  so,  we  leave  all  the  great  stretch  of  country 
to  the  south  open  to  the  hostiles,  and  the  Black  Hills 
settlements  defenceless.  Just  how  long  it  will  take 
us  to  march  to  Deadwood  cannot  be  predicted.  It  is 
due  south  by  compass,  but  over  an  unknown  country. 
While  the  chief  is  deciding,  we  lie  down  in  the  cold 
and  wet  and  try  to  make  ourselves  comfortable. 
Those  who  are  tired  of  the  campaign  and  hungry  for 
a  dinner  predict  that  the  morning  will  find  us  striking 
for  the  Missouri  posts  ;  but  those  who  have  served  long 
with  General  Crook,  and  believe  that  there  is  a  hos- 
tile Indian  between  us  and  the  Black  Hills,  roll  into 
their  blankets  with  the  conviction  that  we  will  have  a 
fight  out  of  this  thing  yet. 

Many  a  horse  has  given  out  already,  and  dismount- 
ed men  are  plodding  along  by  the  flank  of  column. 


102  ICAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 

We  have  been  on  half-rations  for  three  days,  and  are 
not  a  little  ravenous  in  consequence,  and  our  campaign 
suits,  which  were  shabby  on  the  Rosebud,  are  rags  and 
tatters  now.  As  Colonel  Mason  and  I  are  "  clubbing  " 
our  ponchos  and  blankets  for  the  night,  I  turn  to  my 
old  captain,  with  whom  it  has  been  my  good-fortune 
to  serve  so  long  and  still  not  to  lose  him  on  his 
promotion,  and  ask,  "  Well,  what  do  you  think  of 
it?"  And  Mason,  who  is  an  inveterate  old  growler 
around  garrison  in  the  piping  times  of  peace,  and 
stanchest  and  most  loyal  of  subordinates  in  trying 
times  in  the  field,  answers  as  I  could  have  predicted: 
"We  oughtn't  to  give  up  yet,  on  account  of  a  little 
roughing  it ;  and  Crootfs  not  the  man  to  do  ?V 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  FIGHT  OF  THE  REAR  GUARD. 

RAGGED  and  almost  starving,  out  of  rations,  out  at 
elbows  and  every  other  exposed  angle,  out  of  every- 
thing but  pluck  and  ammunition,  General  Crook  gave 
up  the  pursuit  of  Sitting  Bull  at  the  head  of  Heart 
River.  The  Indians  had  scattered  in  every  direction. 
We  had  chased  them  a  month,  and  were  no  nearer 
than  when  we  started.  Their  trail  led  in  as  many 
different  directions  as  there  are  degrees  in  the  circle  ; 
they  had  burned  off  the  grass  from  the  Yellowstone 
to  the  mountains,  and  our  horses  were  dropping  by 
scores,  starved  and  exhausted,  every  day  we  marched. 
There  was  no  help  for  it,  and  only  one  thing  left  to 


CAMPAIGNING  WITH  CROOK.  103 

do.  At  daybreak  the  next  morning  the  orders  came, 
"  Make  for  the  Black  Hills — due  south  by  compass — 
seven  days'  march  at  least,"  and  we  headed  our  de- 
jected steeds  accordingly  and  shambled  off  in  search 
of  supplies. 

Through  eleven  days  of  pouring,  pitiless  rain  we 
plodded  on  that  never-to-be-forgotten  trip,  and  when 
at  last  we  sighted  Bare  Butte  and  halted,  exhausted, 
at  the  swift-flowing  current  of  the  Belle  Fourche, 
three  fourths  of  our  cavalry,  of  the  Second,  Third,  and 
Fifth  regiments,  had  made  the  last  day's  march  afoot. 
One  half  our  horses  were  broken  down  for  good,  one 
fourth  had  fallen  never  to  rise  again,  and  dozens  had 
been  eaten  to  keep  us,  their  riders,  alive. 

Enlivening  incidents  were  few  enough,  and — except 
one — of  little  interest  to  Milwaukeeans.  That  one  is 
at  your  service.  On  the  night  of  September  7th  we 
were  halted  near  the  head-waters  of  Grand  River. 
Here  a  force  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  men  of  the 
Third  Cavalry,  with  the  serviceable  horses  of  that 
regiment,  were  pushed  ahead  under  Major  Anson 
Mills,  with  orders  to  find  the  Black  Hills,  buy  up  all 
the  supplies  he  could  in  Deadwood,  and  then  hurry 
back  to  meet  us.  Two  days  after,  just  as  we  were 
breaking  up  our  cheerless  bivouac  of  the  night,  a  cou- 
rier rode  in  with  news  that  Mills  was  surrounded  by 
the  Indians  twenty  miles  south,  and  every  officer  and 
man  of  the  Fifth  Cavalry  whose  horse  had  strength 
enough  to  trot  pushed  ahead  to  the  rescue.  Through 
mud,  mist,  and  rain  we  plunged  along,  and  by  half- 
past  ten  were  exchanging  congratulations  with  Mills 


104  CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK. 

and  shots  with  the  redskins  in  as  wealthy  an  Indian 
village,  for  its  size,  as  ever  we  had  seen.  Caster's 
guidons  and  uniforms  were  the  first  things  that  met 
our  eyes — trophies  and  evidence  at  once  of  the  part 
our  foe  had  taken  in  the  bloody  battle  of  the  Little 
Big  Horn.  Mills  had  stumbled  upon  the  village  be- 
fore day,  made  a  magnificent  dash,  and  scattered  the 
Indians  to  the  neighboring  heights,  Slim  Buttes  by 
name,  and  then  hung  on  to  his  prize  like  a  bull-dog, 
and  in  the  face  of  appalling  odds,  till  we  rode  in  to 
his  assistance.  That  afternoon,  reinforced  by  swarms 
of  warriors,  they  made  a  grand  rally  and  spirited  at- 
tack, but  'twas  no  use.  By  that  time  we  had  some 
two  thousand  to  meet  them,  and  the  whole  Sioux  na- 
tion couldn't  have  whipped  us.  Some  four  hundred 
ponies  had  been  captured  with  the  village,  and  many 
a  fire  was  lighted  and  many  a  suffering  stomach  glad- 
dened with  a  welcome  change  from  horse-meat,  tough 
and  stringy,  to  rib  roasts  of  pony,  grass-fed,  sweet,  and 
succulent.  There  is  no  such  sauce  as  starvation. 

Next  morning,  at  break  of  day,  General  Crook,  with 
the  wounded,  the  Indian  prisoners,  his  sturdy  infan- 
try, and  all  the  cavalry  but  one  battalion  of  the  Fifth 
Regiment,  pushed  on  for  the  south  through  the  same 
overhanging  pall  of  dripping  mist.  They  had  to  go. 
There  wasn't  a  hard-tack  north  of  Deadwood,  and  men 
must  eat  to  live. 

The  First  Battalion  of  the  Fifth  he  left  to  burn  com- 
pletely the  village  with  all  its  robes,  furs,  and  Indian 
treasures,  and  to  cover  the  retreat. 

As  the  last  of  the  main  column  disappeared  through 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK.  105 

the  drizzle,  with  Mason's  skirmishers  thrown  well  out 
upon  their  right  flank,  a  light  wind  swept  upward  the 
veil  of  smoke  and  mist,  and  the  panorama  became  evi- 
dent to  us  and  to  the  surrounding  Indians  at  one  and 
the  same  moment.  There  was  no  time  to  take  observa- 
tions— down  they  came  with  a  rush. 

On  a  little  knoll  in  the  centre  of  the  burning  village 
a  group  of  horsemen  has  halted — General  Carr,  who 
commands  the  Fifth  Cavalry,  his  staff  and  orderlies— 
and  the  first  remark  as  the  fog  raises  falls  from  the  lips 
of  the  adjutant :  "  By  Jove  !  here's  a  Badger  State 
benefit !" 

All  along  the  line  the  attack  has  commenced  and 
the  battalion  is  sharply  engaged — fighting  afoot,  their 
horses  being  already  led  away  after  the  main  column, 
but  within  easy  call.  Our  orders  are  to  follow,  but  to 
stand  off  the  Indians.  They  are  not  wanted  to  ac- 
company the  march.  It  is  one  thing  to  "stand  off  the 
Indians"  and  hold  your  ground — it  is  quite  another  to 
stand  him  off  and  fall  back.  They  are  dashing  about 
on  their  nimble  ponies,  following  up  the  line  as  it  dog- 
gedly retires  from  ridge  to  ridge,  far  outnumbering 
us,  and  all  the  time  keeping  up  a  rattling  fire  and  a 
volley  of  aboriginal  remarks  at  our  expense.  "Lo" 
yells  with  unaffected  glee  when  his  foe  falls  back,  and 
it  sometimes  sounds  not  unlike  the  "  yi-i-i-ip "  of  the 
rebels  in  '63.  Along  our  line  there  is  a  business-like 
taciturnity,  an  occasional  brief,  ringing  word  of  com- 
mand from  some  officer,  or  a  half-repressed  chuckle  of 
delight  as  some  Patlander  sees  an  Indian  reel  in  his  sad- 
dle, and  turns  to  mutter  to  his  neighbor  on  the  skirmish 


106  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CKOOK. 

line  that  he'd  "  softened  the  wax  in  that  boy's  ears." 
Occasionally,  too,  some  man  suddenly  drops  carbine, 
claps  his  hand  to  leg,  arm,  or  side,  and  with  an  odd 
mixture  of  perplexity  and  pain  in  his  face  looks  ap- 
pealingly  to  the  nearest  officer.  Our  surgeon  is  just 
bandaging  a  bullet  hole  for  one  such,  but  finds  time 
to  look  up  and  ask  : 

"  Why  Badger  State  benefit,  King  ?  I  don't  see  the 
point." 

"  Just  because  there  are  six  Wisconsin  men  risfht 

O 

here  on  this  slope,"  is  the  answer,  "  and  dozens  more 
for  aught  I  know." 

Look  at  them  if  you  will.  I  warrant  no  resident  of 
the  Cream  City  could  recognize  his  townsmen  to-day. 
Remember,  we've  been  hunting  Sioux  and  Cheyennes 
since  May  ;  haven't  seen  a  shanty  for  three  months, 
or  a  tent  for  two  ;  haven't  had  a  change  of  raiment 
for  eight  weeks,  or  a  shave  for  ten  ;  and,  under  those 
battered  slouch  hats  and  in  that  tattered  dress,  small 
wonder  that  you  fail  to  know  the  wearers.  Right 
in  our  front,  half-way  to  the  skirmish  line,  rides  the 
major  commanding  the  battalion  ;  a  tall,  solidly-built 
fellow,  with  twinkling  blue  eyes  and  a  bronzed  face, 
barely  visible  under  the  mass  of  blond  hair  and  beard 
over  which  the  rain  is  dripping.  He  is  a  Milwaukeean 
and  a  West-Pointer,  a  stanch  favorite,  too  ;  and  to- 
day the  whole  rear  guard  is  his  command,  and  on  his 
shoulders  rests  the  safety  of  our  move.  His  is  an  ugly, 
trying  duty,  but  he  meets  it  well.  Just  now  he  is 
keenly  watching  the  left  of  his  line,  and  by  a  trick  he 
has  of  hitching  forward  in  his  saddle  when  things 


CAMPAIGNING  WITH    CEOOK.  107 

don't  go  exactly  right,  you  see  that  something's  com- 
ing. A  quick  gesture  calls  up  a  young  officer  who  is 
carelessly  lounging  on  a  raw-boned  sorrel  that  sniffs 
excitedly  at  the  puffs  of  smoke  floating  past  his  nose. 
Quick  as  the  gesture  the  officer  straightens  in  his  sad- 
dle, shifts  a  quid  into  his  "  off "  cheek,  and  reins  up 
beside  his  commander.  The  major  points  to  the  left 
and  front,  and  away  goes  the  subaltern  at  a  sputtering 
gallop.  Milwaukee  is  sending  Fond  du  Lac  to  make 
the  left  company  u  come  down  out  of  that."  They 
have  halted  on  a  rocky  ridge  from  which  they  can 
gloriously  pepper  the  would-be  pursuers,  and  they 
don't  want  to  quit.  The  major  is  John  J.  Upham,  the 
subaltern  is  Lieutenant  H.  S.  Bishop. 

Square  in  front,  striding  down  the  opposite  slope 
and  up  towards  us  come  the  Company  "  G  "  skirmish- 
ers. A  minute  more  and  the  ridge  they  have  left  is 
swarming  with  Indians.  "  Halt !"  rings  out  along  the 
line,  and  quick  as  thought  the  troopers  face  about, 
fling  themselves  venire  d  terre  and  blaze  away,  scatter- 
ing the  Sioux  like  chaff. 

There's  a  stalwart,  bearded  fellow  commanding  the 
right  skirmishers  of  the  company,  steadily  noting  the 
fire  of  his  men.  Never  bending  himself,  he  moves 
from  point  to  point  cautioning  such  "new  hands"  as 
are  excitedly  throwing  away  their  shots.  He  is  their 
first  sergeant,  a  crack  soldier ;  Milwaukee,  too  —  for 
in  old  days  at  Engelmann's  school  we  knew  him  as 
Johnny  Goll.  Listen  to  his  captain,  half  a  head  taller 
and  quite  as  prominent  and  persistent  a  target,  who  is 
shaking  a  gauntleted  fist  at  his  subordinate  and  shout- 


108  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 

ing,  "I've  told  you  to  keep  down  a  dozen  times,  ser- 
geant ;  now,  by  God,  I  want  you  to  do  it."  This 
makes  the  nearest  men  grin.  The  others  are  too  busy 
to  hear  it. 

The  scene  is  picturesque  enough  from  our  point  of 
view.  To  the  south,  two  miles  away  by  this  time, 
Crook's  long  column  is  crawling  snake-like  over  the 
rolling  sward.  To  the  west  the  white  crags  and  boul- 
ders of  the  buttes  shut  off  the  view — we  are  fighting 
along  at  their  very  base.  Northward  the  country  rises 
and  falls  in  alternate  grassy  ridge  and  ravine ;  not  a 
tree  in  sight — only  the  low-hanging  pall  of  smoke 
from  the  burning  village  in  the  near  distance  ;  the 
slopes  swarming  with  dusky  horsemen,  dashing  tow- 
ards us,  whooping,  yelling,  firing,  and  retiring,  always 
at  speed,  except  where  some  practised  marksman 
springs  from  his  pony  and  prone  upon  the  ground 
draws  bead  at  our  chiefs.  Between  their  restless 
ranks  and  us  is  only  the  long,  thin  line  of  cavalry 
skirmishers,  slowly  falling  back  face  to  the  foe,  and 
giving  them  gun  for  gun.  Eastward,  as  far  as  the 
eye  can  reach,  the  country  rolls  away  in  billowy  un- 
dulations, and — look  !  there  comes  a  dash  of  Indians 
around  our  right  flank.  See  them  sweeping  along 
that  ridge  ?  TJpham  is  on  low  ground  at  this  mo- 
ment and  they  are  beyond  his  view,  but  General  Can* 
sees  the  attempt  to  cut  us  off,  and  in  a  second  the  ad- 
jutant of  the  regiment  comes  tearing  to  the  line,  fast 
as  jaded  horse  can  carry  him.  A  comprehensive  gest- 
ure accomplishes  at  once  the  soldierly  salute  to  the 
major  and  points  out  the  new  danger.  Kellogg's 


CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK.  109 

company  swings  into  saddle  and  fairly  springs  to  the 
right  to  meet  it. 

In  buckskin  trousers,  fringed  and  beaded,  but  much 
the  worse  for  wear,  in  ragged  old  hunting-shirt  and 
shapeless  hat,  none  but  the  initiated  would  recognize 
Milwaukee,  much  less  West  Point,  in  that  adjutant. 
But  he  was  marker  of  our  Light  Guard  years  before 
the  war,  and  the  first  member  of  its  corps  of  drummer 
boys.  He  is  just  speeding  a  grim-looking  cavalryman, 
one  of  the  headquarters  orderlies,  off  with  a  despatch 
to  General  Merritt,  and  that  orderly  is  a  Milwaukeean, 
too,  and  may  have  to  "  run  the  gauntlet "  getting  that 
message  through  ;  but  his  face,  what  you  can  see  of  it 
through  grizzled  hair  and  beard,  looks  unconcerned 
enough  ;  and  under  the  weather-stained  exterior  he 
is  known  to  be  a  faithful  old  soldier — one  who  loves 
the  rough  life  better  than  he  did  the  desk  in  ante 
bettum  days  when  he  was  clerking  at  Hathaway  & 
Belden's.  "  Old  George,"  as  the  men  call  him,  ran  a 
train  on  the  Watertown  road,  too,  once  upon  a  time, 
but  about  the  close  of  the  war  he  drifted  from  the 
volunteers  into  the  regulars,  and  there  he  has  stuck 
ever  since. 

But  all  this  time  Crook  is  marching  away  faster 
than  we  can  back  and  follow  him.  We  have  to  keep 
those  howling  devils  beyond  range  of  the  main  col- 
umn, absorb  their  attention,  pick  up  our  wounded  as 
we  go,  and  be  ready  to  give  the  warriors  a  welcome 
when  they  charge. 

Kellogg,  with  Company  "I,"  has  driven  back  the 
attempted  turn  of  our  right,  but  the  Indians  keep  up 


110  CAMPAIGNING   WITH   CKOOK. 

their  harassing  attack  from  the  rear.  Time  is  pre- 
cious, and  Upham  begins  to  think  we  are  wasting  it. 
Again  the  adjutant  has  come  to  him  from  General 
Carr,  and  now  is  riding  along  the  line  to  the  right, 
communicating  some  order  to  the  officers,  while  Lieu- 
tenant Bishop  is  doing  the  same  on  the  left.  Just  as 
the  skirmishers  cross  the  next  ridge  a  few  cool  old 
shots  from  each  company  drop  on  hands  and  knees, 
and,  crawling  back  to  the  crest,  open  a  rapid  fire  on 
the  pursuers,  checking  them.  Covered  by  this  the 
main  line  sweeps  down  at  a  run,  crosses  the  low, 
boggy  ground  between  them,  and  toils  up  the  ridge 
on  which  we  are  stationed.  Here  they  halt,  face 
about,  throw  themselves  flat  on  their  faces,  and  the 
major  signals  to  the  outlying  skirmishers  to  come  in  ; 
they  obey  with  a  rush,  and  a  minute  after  a  mass  of 
Indians  pops  over  the  divide  in  pursuit.  With  a  ring- 
ing hurrah  of  exultation  our  line  lets  drive  a  volley,  the 
astonished  redskins  wheel  about,  those  who  can,  lug- 
ging with  them  the  dead  or  wounded  who  have  fallen, 
and  scatter  off  under  shelter. 

"  How's  that,  King  ?"  says  the  major,  with  a  grin. 
"  Think  they've  had  enough  ?"  Apparently  they 
have,  as  none  reappear  except  in  distant  groups. 
Mount  is  the  word.  Ranks  are  formed,  the  men  chat 
and  laugh  a  moment,  as  girths  and  stirrups  are  being 
rearranged,  then  silence  and  attention  as  they  break 
into  column  and  jog  off  after  Crook's  distant  battal- 
ions. 

The  adjutant  is  jotting  down  the  list  of  casualties 
in  his  note-book.  "  What  time  is  it,  major  ?"  "  Eight 


CAMPAIGNING  WITH  CROOK.          Ill 

o'clock,"  says  Upham,  wringing  the  wet  from  his  hat. 
"  Eight  o'clock  here  ;  church-time  in  Milwaukee." 
Who  would  have  thought  it  was  Sunday  ? 


CHAPTER  X. 

"BUFFALO  BILL"  AND   "BUFFALO   CHIPS." 

IN  all  these  years  of  campaigning,  the  Fifth  Cavalry 
has  had  varied  and  interesting  experiences  with  a  class 
of  men  of  whom  much  has  been  written,  and  whose 
names,  to  readers  of  the  dime  novel  and  JVew  York 
"Weekly  style  of  literature,  were  familiar  as  household 
words  ;  I  mean  the  "  Scouts  of  the  Prairie,"  as  they 
have  been  christened.  Many  a  peace-loving  citizen 
and  thousands  of  our  boys  have  been  to  see  Buffalo 
Bill's  thrilling  representations  on  the  stage  of  the 
scenes  of  his  life  of  adventure.  To  such  he  needs  no 
introduction,  and  throughout  our  cavalry  he  is  better 
known  than  any  general  except  Crook. 

A  motley  set  they  are  as  a  class — these  scouts ; 
hard  riding,  hard  swearing,  hard  drinking  ordinarily, 
and  not  all  were  of  unimpeachable  veracity.  But 
there  was  never  a  word  of  doubt  or  question  in  the 
Fifth  when  Buffalo  Bill  came  up  for  discussion.  He 
was  chief  scout  of  the  regiment  in  Kansas  and  Ne- 
braska in  the  campaign  of  1868-69,  when  the  hostiles 
were  so  completely  used  up  by  General  Carr.  He  re- 
mained with  us  as  chief  scout  until  the  regiment  was 
ordered  to  Arizona  to  take  its  turn  at  the  Apaches  in 
1871,  and  nothing  but  his  having  a  wife  and  family 


112  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 

prevented  his  going  thither.  Five  years  the  regiment 
was  kept  among  the  rocks  and  deserts  of  that  marvel- 
lous land  of  cactus  and  centipede  ;  but  when  we  came 
homeward  across  the  continent  and  were  ordered  up 
to  Cheyenne  to  take  a  hand  in  the  Sioux  war  of  1876, 
the  first  addition  to  our  ranks  was  Buffalo  Bill  him- 
self. He  was  "starring  it"  with  his  theatrical  troupe 
in  the  far  East,  and  read  in  the  papers  that  the  Fifth 
was  ordered  to  the  support  of  General  Crook.  It  was 
Bill's  benefit  night  at  Wilmington,  Delaware.  He 
rushed  through  the  performance,  paid  off  his  com- 
pany, took  the  midnight  express,  and  four  days  later 
sprang  from  the  Union  Pacific  train  at  Cheyenne,  and 
was  speedily  exchanging  greetings  with  an  eager  group 
of  his  old  comrades,  reinstated  as  chief  scout  of  the 
regiment. 

Of  his  services  during  the  campaign  that  followed,  a 
dozen  articles  might  be  written.  One  of  his  best  plays 
is  founded  on  the  incidents  of  our  fight  of  the  17th 
of  July  with  the  Cheyenne  Indians,  on  the  War  Bon- 
net, for  it  was  there  he  killed  the  warrior  Yellow 
Hand,  in  as  plucky  a  single  combat  on  both  sides  as 
is  ever  witnessed.  The  Fifth  had  a  genuine  affec- 
tion for  Bill ;  he  was  a  tried  and  true  comrade — one 
who  for  cool  daring  and  judgment  had  no  superior. 
He  was  a  beautiful  horseman,  an  unrivalled  shot,  and 
as  a  scout  unequalled.  We  had  tried  them  all — Hual- 
pais  and  Tontos  in  Arizona;  half-breeds  on  the  great 
plains.  We  had  followed  Custer's  old  guide,  "  Califor- 
nia Joe,"  in  Dakota;  met  handsome  Bill  Hickox  (Wild 
Bill)  in  the  Black  Hills;  trailed  for  weeks  after  Crook's 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK.  113 

favorite,  Frank  Gruard,  all  over  the  Big  Horn  and 
Powder  River  country;  hunted  Nez  Perces  with  Cos- 
grove  and  his  Shoshones  among  the  Yellowstone  moun- 
tains, and  listened  to  "Captain  Jack"  Crawford's  yarns 
and  rhymes  in  many  a  bivouac  in  the  Northwest.  They 
were  all  noted  men  in  their  way,  but  Bill  Cody  was  the 
paragon. 

This  time  it  is  not  my  purpose  to  write  of  him,  but, 
for  him,  of  another  whom  I've  not  yet  named.  The 
last  time  we  met,  Cody  and  I,  he  asked  me  to  put  in 
print  a  brief  notice  of  a  comrade  who  was  very  dear  to 
him,  and  it  shall  be  done  now. 

James  White  was  his  name;  a  man  little  known  east 
of  the  Missouri,  but  on  the  Plains  he  was  Buffalo  Bill's 
shadow.  I  had  met  him  for  the  first  time  at  McPher- 
son  station  in  the  Platte  valley,  in  1871,  when  he  came 
to  me  with  a  horse,  and  the  simple  introduction  that 
he  was  a  friend  of  Cody's.  Long  afterwards  we  found 
how  true  and  stanch  a  friend,  for  when  Cody  joined 
us  at  Cheyenne  as  chief  scout  he  brought  White  with 
him  as  assistant,  and  Bill's  recommendation  secured 
his  immediate  employment. 

On  many  a  long  day's  march  after  that  White  rode 
by  my  side  along  the  flanks  of  the  column,  and  I  got 
to  know  him  well.  A  simpler-minded,  gentler  fron- 
tiersman never  lived.  He  was  modesty  and  courtesy 
itself,  conspicuous  mainly  because  of  two  or  three  un- 
usual traits  for  his  class — he  never  drank,  I  never  heard 
him  swear,  and  no  man  ever  heard  him  lie. 

For  years  he  had  been  Cody's  faithful  follower — 
half  servant,  half  "pardner."  He  was  Bill's  "Fidus 


114  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CKOOK. 

Achates;"  Bill  was  his  adoration.  They  had  been  boys 
together,  and  the  hero  worship  of  extreme  youth  was 
simply  intensified  in  the  man.  He  copied  Bill's  dress, 
his  gait,  his  carriage,  his  speech — everything  he  could 
copy;  he  let  his  long  yellow  hair  fall  low  upon  his 
shoulders  in  wistful  imitation  of  Bill's  glossy  brown 
curls.  He  took  more  care  of  Bill's  guns  and  horses 
than  he  did  of  his  own;  and  so,  when  he  finally  claimed, 
one  night  at  Laramie,  the  right  to  be  known  by  some 
other  title  than  simple  Jim  White — something  descrip- 
tive, as  it  were,  of  his  attachment  for  Cody  and  life- 
long devotion  to  his  idol  "  Buffalo  Bill,"  a  grim  quar- 
termaster (Morton,  of  the  Ninth  Infantry),  dubbed  him 
"  Buffalo  Chips,"  and  the  name  was  a  fixture. 

Poor,  honest-hearted  "  Chips "  !  His  story  was  a 
brief  one  after  that  episode.  We  launched  out  from 
Laramie  on  the  22d  of  June,  and,  through  all  the  vicis- 
situdes of  the  campaign  that  followed,  he  was  always 
near  the  Fifth.  On  the  Yellowstone  Cody  was  com- 
pelled to  bid  us  a  reluctant  farewell.  He  had  theat- 
rical engagements  to  meet  in  the  fall,  and  about  the 
end  of  August  he  started  on  General  Terry's  boat  for 
Fort  Buford  and  the  States.  "Chips"  remained  in 
his  capacity  as  scout,  though  he  seemed  sorely  to  miss 
his  "pardner." 

It  was  just  two  weeks  after  that  we  struck  the  Sioux 
at  Slim  Buttes,  something  of  which  I  told  you  in  a  for- 
mer chapter.  You  may  remember  that  the  Fifth  had 
ridden  in  haste  to  the  relief  of  Major  Mills,  who  had 
surprised  the  Indians  away  in  our  front  early  Saturday 
morning,  had  whipped  them  in  panicky  confusion  out 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CEO  OK.  115 

of  their  "  tepees  "  into  the  neighboring  rocks,  and  then 
had  to  fight  on  the  defensive  against  ugly  odds  until 
we  rode  in  to  the  rescue.  As  the  head  of  our  column 
jogged  in  among  the  lodges,  and  General  Carr  direct- 
ed us  to  keep  on  down  to  face  the  bluffs  to  the  south, 
Mills  pointed  to  a  ravine  opening  out  into  the  village, 
with  the  warning,  "Look  out  for  that  gully;  there  are 
two  or  three  wounded  Indians  hidden  in  there,  and 
they've  knocked  over  some  of  my  men." 

Everybody  was  too  busy  just  then  to  pay  much 
attention  to  two  or  three  wounded  Indians  in  a  hole. 
We  were  sure  of  getting  them  when  wanted.  So, 
placing  a  couple  of  sentinels  where  they  could  warn 
stragglers  away  from  its  front,  we  formed  line  along 
the  south  and  west  of  the  captured  village,  and  got 
everything  ready  to  resist  the  attack  we  knew  they 
would  soon  make  in  full  force. 

General  Crook  had  arrived  on  the  scene,  and,  while 
we  were  waiting  for  "  Lo  "  to  resume  the  offensive, 
some  few  scouts  and  packers  started  in  to  have  a  little 
fun  "rousting  out  them  Injuns."  Half  a  dozen  sol- 
diers got  permission  to  go  over  and  join  in  while  the 
rest  of  us  were  hungrily  hunting  about  for  something 
to  eat.  The  next  thing,  we  heard  a  volley  from  the 
ravine,  and  saw  the  scouts  and  packers  scattering  for 
cover.  One  soldier  held  his  ground — shot  dead.  An- 
other moment,  and  it  became  apparent  that  not  one  or 
two,  but  a  dozen  Indians  were  crouching  somewhere 
in  that  narrow  gorge,  and  the  move  to  get  them  out 
assumed  proportions.  Lieutenant  Clark,  of  General 
Crook's  staff,  sprang  into  the  entrance,  carbine  in  hand, 


116  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CKOOK. 

and  a  score  of  cavalrymen  followed,  while  the  scouts 
and  others  went  cautiously  along  either  bank,  peering 
warily  into  the  cave-like  darkness  at  the  head.  A 
squad  of  newspaper  correspondents,  led  by  that  reck- 
less Hibernian,  Finerty,  of  the  Chicago  Times,  came 
tearing  over,  pencil  in  hand,  all  eagerness  for  items, 
just  as  a  second  volley  came  from  the  concealed  foe, 
and  three  more  of  their  assailants  dropped,  bleed- 
ing, in  their  tracks.  Now  our  people  were  fairly 
aroused,  and  officers  and  men  by  dozens  hurried  to 
the  scene.  The  misty  air  rang  with  shots,  and  the 
chances  looked  bad  for  those  redskins.  Just  at  this 
moment,  as  I  was  running  over  from  the  western  side, 
I  caught  sight  of  "  Chips  "  on  the  opposite  crest.  All 
alone,  he  was  cautiously  making  his  way,  on  hands  and 
knees,  towards  the  head  of  the  ravine,  where  he  could 
look  down  upon  the  Indians  beneath.  As  yet  he  was  pro- 
tected from  their  fire  by  the  bank  itself — his  lean  form 
distinctly  outlined  against  the  eastern  sky.  He  reached 
a  stunted  tree  that  grew  on  the  very  edge  of  the  gorge, 
and  there  he  halted,  brought  his  rifle  close  under  his 
shoulder,  in  readiness  to  aim,  and  then  raised  himself 
slowly  to  his  feet,  lifted  his  head  higher,  higher,  as  he 
peered  over.  Suddenly  a  quick,  eager  light  shone  in  his 
face,  a  sharp  movement  of  his  rifle,  as  though  he  were 
about  to  raise  it  to  the  shoulder,  when,  bang ! — a  puff 
of  white  smoke  floated  up  from  the  head  of  the  ravine, 
"  Chips "  sprang  convulsively  in  the  air,  clasping  his 
hands  to  his  breast,  and  with  one  startled,  agonizing 
cry,  "  Oh,  my  God,  boys !"  plunged  heavily  forward, 
on  his  face,  down  the  slope — shot  througli  the  heart. 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK.  117 

Two  minutes  more,  what  Indians  were  left  alive  were 
prisoners,  and  that  costly  experiment  at  an  end.  That 
evening,  after  the  repulse  of  the  grand  attack  of  Ro- 
man Nose  and  Stabber's  warriors,  and,  'twas  said,  hun- 
dreds of  Crazy  Horse's  band,  we  buried  poor  "  Chips," 
with  our  other  dead,  in  a  deep  ravine.  Wild  Bill,  Cal- 
ifornia Joe,  and  Cosgrove  have  long  since  gone  to  their 
last  account,  but,  among  those  who  knew  them,  no 
scout  was  more  universally  mourned  than  Buffalo  Bill's 
devoted  friend,  Jim  White. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE   "CHIEF"    AND  THE  STAFF. 

WITH  the  death  of  our  scout,  Jim  White,  that  event- 
ful afternoon  on  the  9th  of  September,  1876,  the  skulk- 
ing Indians  in  the  ravine  seemed  to  have  fired  their 
last  shot.  Several  squaws  were  half  dragged,  half 
pushed  up  the  banks,  and  through  them  the  hidden 
foe  were  at  last  convinced  that  their  lives  would  be 
spared  if  they  would  come  out  and  surrender.  Pend- 
ing the  negotiations,  General  Crook  himself,  with  two 
or  three  staff  officers,  came  upon  the  scene,  and  orders 
were  given  that  the  prisoners  should  be  brought  to  him. 

The  time  was,  in  the  martial  history  of  our  country, 
when  brigadier-generals  were  as  plentiful  as  treasury- 
clerks — when  our  streets  were  ablaze  with  brilliant 
buttons,  double  rows  and  grouped  in  twos;  when  sil- 
ver stars  shone  on  many  a  shoulder,  and  every  such 
luminary  was  the  centre  of  half  a  score  of  brilliant 


118  CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CEOOK. 

satellites,  the  blue-and-gold  aides-de-camp,  adjutant- 
generals,  etc.,  etc.  But  those  were  the  dashing  days 
of  the  late  civil  war,  when  -the  traditions  of  1812  and 
Mexico  were  still  fresh  in  the  military  mind,  and  when 
we  were  half  disposed  to  consider  it  quite  the  thing 
for  a  general  to  bedeck  himself  in  all  the  splendor  to 
be  borrowed  from  plumes,  epaulettes,  and  sashes,  and, 
followed  by  a  curveting  train  of  attendants,  to  gallop 
forth  and  salute  his  opponent  before  opening  the  bat- 
tle. They  did  it  in  1812,  and  "Old  Fuss  and  Feath- 
ers," as  many  in  the  army  called  Winfield  Scott,  would 
have  pursued  the  same  system  in  '47,  but  for  the  fact 
that  bluff  Zachary  Taylor—"  Old  Rough  and  Ready  " 
— had  taken  the  initiative,  and  left  all  full-dress  outfits 
east  of  the  Rio  Grande. 

We  do  things  in  a  still  more  practical  style  nowa- 
days, and,  when  it  comes  to  fighting  Indians,  all  that 
is  ornamental  in  warfare  has  been  left  to  them.  An 
Indian  of  the  Sioux  or  Cheyenne  tribe,  when  he  goes 
into  battle,  is  as  gorgeous  a  creature  as  vermilion, 
pigment,  plumed  war -bonnet,  glittering  necklace, 
armlets,  bracelets,  and  painted  shield  can  make  him. 
But  here  is  a  chance  to  see  a  full-fledged  brigadier- 
general  of  the  United  States  Army  and  his  brilliant 
staff  in  action  —  date,  September  9th,  1876;  place, 
a  muddy  ravine  in  far- western  Dakota;  campaign, 
the  great  Sioux  war  of  that  year.  Now,  fellow- 
citizens,  which  is  brigadier  and  which  is  private  sol- 
dier in  this  crowd  ?  It  has  gathered  in  not  unkindly 
curiosity  around  three  squaws  who  have  just  been 
brought  into  the  presence  of  the  "big  white  chief." 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK.  119 

You  are  taxpayers — you  contribute  to  the  support  of 
the  brigadier  and  the  private  alike.  Presumably,  there- 
fore, having  paid  your  money,  you  take  your  pick.  I 
see  you  will  need  assistance.  Very  well,  then.  This 
utterly  unpretending  party — this  undeniably  shabby- 
looking  man  in  a  private  soldier's  light-blue  overcoat, 
standing  ankle-deep  in  mud  in  a  far-gone  pair  of  pri- 
vate soldier's  boots,  crowned  with  a  most  shocking  bad 
hat,  is  Brigadier-General  George  Crook,  of  the  United 
States  Army.  He  commanded  the  Eighth  Corps  at 
Cedar  Creek,  and  ever  since  the  war  closed  has  been 
hustled  about  the  great  West,  doing  more  hard  ser- 
vice and  making  less  fuss  about  it  than  you  suppose 
possible  in  the  case  of  a  brigadier-general.  He  has 
spent  the  best  days  of  his  life,  before  and  since  the 
war,  in  the  exile  of  the  frontier.  He  has  fought  all 
the  tribes  on  the  western  slope  of  the  Rockies,  and 
nearly  all  on  the  eastern  side.  Pitt  River  Indians 
sent  an  arrow  through  him  in  1857,  and  since  the  day 
he  took  command  against  the  Apaches  in  Arizona  no 
white  man's  scalp  would  bring  the  price  his  would, 
even  in  the  most  impoverished  tribe  on  the  continent. 
The  rain  is  dripping  from  the  ragged  edge  of  his  old 
white  felt  hat  and  down  over  his  untrimmed  beard  as 
he  holds  out  his  hand  to  greet,  Indian  fashion,  the  first 
squaw  whom  the  interpreter,  Frank  Gruard,  is  leading 
forward.  Poor,  haggard,  terrified  old  wretch,  she  rec- 
ognizes the  big  chief  at  once,  and,  springing  forward, 
grasps  his  hand  in  both  of  hers,  while  her  eyes  mutely 
implore  protection.  Never  having  seen  in  all  her  life 
any  reception  but  torture  for  prisoners,  she  cannot  be 


120  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 

made  to  believe,  for  some  minutes,  that  the  white  man 
does  not  war  that  way.  The  other  squaws  come  crowd- 
ing after  her,  each  eager  to  grasp  the  general's  hand, 
and  then  to  insert  therein  the  tiny  fist  of  the  pap- 
poose  hanging  in  stolid  wonderment  on  her  back. 
One  of  the  squaws,  a  young  and  really  handsome 
woman,  is  shot  through  the  hand,  but  she  holds  it  un- 
concernedly before  her,  letting  the  blood  drip  to  the 
ground  while  she  listens  to  the  interpreter's  explana- 
tion of  the  general's  assurance  of  safety. 

Standing  by  the  general  are  two  of  his  aides.  West 
of  the  Missouri  you  would  not  need  introduction  to 
him  or  them,  for  no  men  are  better  known;  but  it  is 
the  rarest  thing  imaginable  to  see  any  one  of  the  three 
anywhere  else.  In  point  of  style  and  attire,  they  are 
no  better  oif  than  their  chief.  Bourke,  the  senior  aide 
and  adjutant-general  of  the  expedition,  is  picturesque- 
ly gotten  up  in  an  old  shooting-coat,  an  indescribable 
pair  of  trousers,  and  a  straw  hat  minus  ribbon  or  bind- 
ing, a  brim  ragged  as  the  edge  of  a  saw,  and  a  crown 
without  a  thatch.  It  was  midsummer,  you  recollect, 
when  we  started  on  this  raid,  and,  while  the  seasons 
have  changed,  our  garments,  perforce,  remain  the  same, 
what  there  is  left  of  them. 

Schuyler,  the  junior,  is  a  trifle  more  "swell"  in 
point  of  dress.  His  hat  has  not  quite  so  many  holes; 
his  hunting-shirt  of  brown  canvas  has  stood  the  wear 
and  tear  of  the  campaign  somewhat  better,  and  the 
lower  man  is  garbed  in  a  material  unsightly  but  inde- 
structible. All  three  are  old  campaigners  in  every  part 
of  the  West.  The  third  aide-de-camp  we  saw  in  the 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK.  121 

previous  article,  down  in  the  ravine  itself,  heading 
the  attack  on  the  Indians.  Clark  is  unquestionably 
the  show-figure  of  the  staff,  for  his  suit  of  Indian- 
tanned  buckskin  seems  to  defy  the  elements,  and  he 
looks  as  handsome  and  jaunty  as  the  day  we  met 
him  on  the  Yellowstone. 

Meantime  more  Indians  are  being  dragged  out  of 
their  improvised  rifle-pits — warriors,  squaws,  and  chil- 
dren. One  of  the  latter  is  a  bright-eyed  little  miss  of 
some  four  or  five  summers.  She  is  absolutely  pretty, 
and  looks  so  wet  and  cold  and  hungry  that  Bourke's 
big  heart  is  touched,  and,  lifting  her  from  the  ground, 
he  starts  off  with  her  towards  where  the  Fifth  Cavalry 
are  bivouacked,  and  I  go  with  them.  The  little  maid- 
en suspects  treachery — torture  or  death,  no  doubt — 
for  with  all  her  savage  strength  she  kicks,  struggles, 
claws,  and  scratches  at  the  kindly,  bearded  face,  scorns 
all  the  soothing  protestations  of  her  captor,  and  finally, 
as  we  arrive  at  Bourke's  camp-fire,  actually  tears  off 
that  veteran  straw  hat,  and  Bourke,  being  a  bachelor, 
hands  his  prize  over  to  me  with  the  remark  that,  as  a 
family  man,  I  may  have  better  luck.  Apparently  I  do 
not,  but  in  a  moment  the  adjutant-general  is  busying 
himself  at  his  haversack.  He  produces  an  almost  for- 
gotten luxury — a  solid  hard-tack  ;  spreads  upon  it  a 
thick  layer  of  wild-currant  jam,  and  hands  it  to  the 
little  termagant  who  is  deafening  me  with  screams. 
"Take  it,  it's  washtay,  Wauwataycha;"  and,  sudden 
as  sunburst  from  April  cloud,  little  Wauwataycha's 
white  teeth  gleamed  in  smiles  an  instant,  and  then  are 
buried  in  the  sweet  morsel.  Her  troubles  are  forgot- 


122  CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK. 

ten,  she  wriggles  out  of  my  arms,  squats  contentedly 
in  the  mud  by  the  fire,  finishes  a  square  foot  of  hard- 
tack in  less  time  than  we  could  masticate  an  inch,  and 
smilingly  looks  up  for  more. 

Poor  little  heathen  !  It  wasn't  the  treatment  she 
expected,  and,  doubtless,  more  than  ever,  she  thinks 
"  white  man  heap  fool,"  but  she  is  none  the  less  happy. 
She  will  fill  her  own  little  stomach  first,  and  then  go 
and  tell  the  glad  tidings  to  her  sisters,  cousins,  and 
aunts,  and  that  white  chief  will  have  consequential 
damages  to  settle  for  scores  of  relatives  of  the  original 
claimant  of  his  hospitality.  Indian  logic  in  such  mat- 
ters is  nothing  if  not  peculiar.  Lo  argues,  "  You  give 
my  pappoose  something  to  eat  —  you  my  pappoose 
friend;  now  you  give  me,  or  you  my  enemy." 

Nothing  but  big  luck  will  save  Bourke's  scanty 
supply  of  provender  this  muddy,  rainy  afternoon. 

We  have  captured  a  dozen  or  more  rabid  Indians 
who  but  half  an  hour  ago  were  strewing  the  hillside 
with  our  dead.  Here's  one  grinning,  hand-shaking 
vagabond  with  one  of  Ouster's  corporals  uniforms  on 
his  back — doubtless  that  corporal's  scalp  is  somewhere 
in  the  warrior's  possession,  but  he  has  the  deep  sagac- 
ity not  to  boast  of  it ;  and  no  man  in  his  sound  senses 
wants  to  search  the  average  Indian.  They  are  our 
prisoners.  Were  we  theirs,  by  this  time  we  would  be 
nakedly  ornamenting  a  solid  stake  and  broiling  to  a 
juicy  death  to  the  accompaniment  of  their  exultant 
howls.  But  fate  ordains  otherwise ;  we  are  good 
North  American  citizens  and  must  conciliate — so  we 
pass  them  around  with  smiling,  pacific  grasp  of  hand — 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK.  123 

cheery  "  How  coolahs,"  and  seat  them  by  the  fire  and 
bid  them  puff  of  our  scanty  store  of  tobacco,  and  eat 
of  our  common  stock  of  pony.  But  we  leave  a  fair- 
sized  guard  with  orders  to  perforate  the  first  redskin 
that  tries  to  budge,  while  the  rest  of  us  grab  our  car- 
bines and  hurry  to  our  posts.  Scattering  shots  are 
heard  all  along  and  around  our  line — the  trumpets  of 
the  cavalry  ring  out  "  To  arms !"  the  Fifth  Cavalry 
follows  with  "Forward."  It  means  business,  gentle- 
men, for  here  come  Crazy  Horse,  Roman  Nose,  and 
scores,  nay  hundreds,  of  these  Dick  Turpins  of  the 
Plains,  bent  on  recapturing  their  comrades.  We  must 
drop  pen  to  meet  them. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE   COMBAT   OF  SLIM  BUTTES. 

IT  is  a  stirring  sight  that  meets  the  eye  as,  scram- 
bling up  from  the  shelter  of  the  ravine  in  which  we 
have  been  interviewing  our  captives,  we  gain  the  hill- 
side and  look  hurriedly  around.  The  whole  landscape 
is  alive  with  men  and  horses  in  excited  motion.  We 
are  in  a  half-amphitheatre  of  picturesque  and  tower- 
ing bluffs.  North,  south,  and  west  they  frown  down 
upon  us,  their  crests  enveloped  in  eddying  mist  and 
rain  clouds,  the  sward  at  their  base  rolling  towards  us 
in  successive  dips  and  ridges.  Not  three  hundred 
yards  away  the  nearest  cliff  tosses  skyward  directly 
south  of  the  centre  of  the  village  we  have  won,  but 
to  the  west  and  north  they  open  out  a  good  three- 
quarter  mile  away. 


124  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 

The  village  itself  consists  of  some  thirty  lodges  or 
tepees  of  the  largest  and  most  ornate  description 
known  to  Sioux  architecture.  The  prisoners  say  that 
the  head  man  of  the  municipality  was  Roman  Nose, 
and  that  he  and  his  band  are  but  flankers  of  the  great 
chieftain  Crazy  Horse,  whose  whereabouts  arc  vaguely 
indicated  as  "over  there,"  which  may  mean  among 
the  white  crags  of  Slim  Buttes,  within  rifle  shot,  or 
miles  away  towards  the  Little  Missouri.  The  tepees 
are  nestled  about  in  three  shallow  ravines  or  "  cool- 
eys,"  as  the  Northern  plainsmen  sometimes  call  them, 
which,  uniting  in  the  centre  of  the  metropolis,  form  a 
little  valley  through  which  their  joint  contributions 
trickle  away  in  a  muddy  streamlet.  On  a  point  at 
the  confluence  of  the  two  smaller  branches  stands  a 
large  lodge  of  painted  skins,  the  residence  no  doubt 
of  some  chief  or  influential  citizen,  for  it  is  chuck-full 
of  robes  and  furs  and  plunder  of  every  description. 
Here,  not  inside,  for  the  domicile  savors  of  long  and 
unventilated  occupation,  but  outside  in  the  mud,  Gen- 
eral Carr  has  established  the  headquarters  of  the  Fifth 
Cavalry.  Its  left  is  bivouacked  directly  in  front, 
facing  south  in  the  narrow  ravine  nearest  the  tall  white 
butte  that  stands  like  a  sentinel  against  the  stormy 
sky,  while  the  rest  of  the  line  sweeps  around  to  the 
west,  crossing  the  level  plateau  between  the  two  main 
ravines.  Mason's  battalion  is  holding  this  front  and 
uniting  with  the  Second  Cavalry  battalion  on  our 
right. 

Directly  behind  us  rises  a  mound  in  the  very  centre 
of  our  position,  and  here  General  Merritt,  who  com- 


CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK.  125 

mands  the  whole  cavalry  brigade,  has  planted  his  flag. 
It  overlooks  the  field.  Below  him  to  the  north  are 
the  lodges  to  which  the  wounded  men  have  been 
brought,  and  where  the  surgeons  are  now  at  work. 
Here,  too,  the  compact  battalion  of  the  infantry  has 
stacked  its  arms  and  set  about  kicking  the  heavy  mud 
off  its  worn  brogans.  Somewhere  over  there  also  is 
the  entire  Third  Cavalry,  but  I  have  been  too  busy 
with  other  entertainments  since  we  trotted  in  at  noon 
to  find  out  much  about  them.  To  them  belongs  solely 
and  entirely  the  honor  of  the  capture  of  the  village 
in  the  first  place — only  a  hundred  and  fifty  men  at 
that.  Their  advance  under  Mills  and  Crawford, 
Schwatka  and  poor  Von  Luettwitz  (who  pays  for 
the  honor  with  a  leg  the  surgeons  have  just  lopped 
off)  dashed  in  at  daybreak  while  we  were  yet  twenty 
miles  away,  and  since  we  got  in  to  help  them  hold  the 
prize  all  hands  have  had  their  hands  full. 

Southeast  of  Merritt's  central  position  a  curling  white 
smoke  rising  from  the  main  ravine  through  the  moist- 
ure-laden air,  and  begriming  the  folds  of  a  red-and- 
bltie  headquarters  flag,  indicates  where  Crook  himself 
is  to  be  found.  The  brigadier  is  no  better  off — cares 
to  be  no  better  off  than  the  private.  He  has  not  a 
rag  of  canvas  to  shelter  his  head. 

Close  in  around  the  lines  the  lean,  bony,  leg-weary 
horses  of  the  cavalry  are  herded,  each  company  by 
itself  where  best  it  can  find  patches  of  the  rich  buffalo 
grass.  No  need  to  lariat  those  horses  now.  For  weeks 
past  they  have  barely  been  able  to  stagger  along,  and 
the  morning's  twenty-mile  shuffle  through  the  mud 


126  CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CKOOK. 

has  utterly  used  them  up.  Nevertheless,  each  herd 
is  strongly  guarded,  for  the  Indians  are  lurking  all 
around  us,  eagerly  watching  every  chance. 

The  scattering  shots  from  the  distant  portion  of  our 
lines,  that  have  brought  us  scrambling  up  the  hillside, 
wake  the  scene  to  the  instant  life  and  excitement  we 
note  as  we  reach  the  first  ridge.  As  adjutant,  my 
duties  call  me  at  once  to  General  Carr's  headquarters, 
whence  half  a  dozen  officers  who  were  gathered  in 
conversation  are  scattering  to  their  companies.  A 
shout  from  the  hillside  announces,  "Indians  firing  into 
the  herds  over  in  front  of  the  Third  Cavalry."  Even 
as  the  hail  is  heard,  a  rattling  of  small  arms,  the  sharp, 
vicious  "ping"  of  the  carbine  and  the  deep  "bang" 
of  the  longer-ranged  rifle,  sweeps  along  the  western 
front.  Just  as  we  expected,  Crazy  Horse  has  come 
to  the  rescue,  with  all  his  available  warriors.  It  is 
just  half-past  four  o'clock  by  General  Carr's  watch, 
and  between  this  and  sunset  the  matter  must  be  set- 
tled. As  yet  we  can  see  nothing  of  it  from  our  front, 
but  every  man  seems  to  know  what's  coming*  "  Sound 
to  arms,  Bradley,"  is  General  Carr's  quiet  order  to  our 
chief  trumpeter,  and  as  the  ringing  notes  resound  along 
the  ravines  the  call  is  taken  up  from  battalion  to  bat- 
talion. The  men  spring  to  ranks,  the  herd  guards  are 
hurrying  in  their  startled  horses,  and  the  old  chargers, 
scenting  Indians  and  danger,  toss  their  heads  snorting 
in  the  air  and  come  trotting  in  to  their  eager  masters. 
All  but  one  herd — "  Look  at  the  Grays,"  is  the  cry, 
for  Montgomery's  horses  have  burst  into  a  gallop,  ex- 
cited by  the  shouts  and  clamor,  and  there  they  go  up 


CAMPAIGNING  WITH  CROOK.  127 

the  slope,  out  to  the  front,  and  square  into  the  fast- 
ness of  the  Indians.  Not  yet !  A  dozen  eager  troop- 
ers, officers  and  men,  have  flung  themselves  on  their 
steeds,  all  without  saddles,  some  without  bridles,  and 
are  off  in  chase.  No  need  of  their  services,  though. 
That  dragoon  corporal  in  charge  of  the  herd  is  a  cool, 
practised  hand — he  has  to  be  to  wear  chevrons  in 
Montgomery's  troop — and,  dashing  to  the  front,  he  half 
leads,  half  turns  the  leaders  over  to  the  left,  and  in  a 
great  circling  sweep  of  five  hundred  yards  has  guided 
them  back  into  the  very  midst  of  their  company.  It 
is  at  once  skilful  and  daring.  No  Indian  could  have 
done  it  better,  and  Corporal  Clanton  is  applauded 
then  and  mentioned  in  General  Carr's  report  there- 
after. 

Even  as  it  is  occurring,  the  hillsides  in  our  own 
front  bristle  with  the  savage  warriors,  too  far  off  as 
yet  for  close  shooting,  but  threateningly  near.  Our 
horses  must  be  kept  under  cover  in  the  ravines,  and 
the  lines  thrown  out  to  meet  the  foe,  so  "Forward" 
is  sounded.  Upham's  battalion  scramble  up  the  ridge 
in  their  front,  and  the  fun  begins.  All  around  the 
rocky  amphitheatre  the  Indians  come  bobbing  into 
sight  on  their  active  ponies,  darting  from  behind  rocks 
and  ledges,  appearing  for  a  brief  instant  over  the  rise 
of  open  ground  eight  hundred  yards  away,  then  as 
suddenly  dipping  out  of  sight  into  some  intervening 
"  swale,"  or  depression.  The  first  thing,  while  the 
general's  horse  and  mine  are  being  saddled,  is  to  get 
the  other  animals  into  the  ravine  under  shelter,  and 
while  I'm  at  it,  Bourke,  the  aide-de-camp  we  last  saw 


128  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CEOOK. 

petting  and  feeding  his  baby-captive,  conies  rattling 
up  the  pebbly  stream-bed  and  rides  out  to  the  front 
with  that  marvellous  wreck  of  a  straw  hat  flapping 
about  his  ears.  He  never  hears  the  laughing  hail  of 
"How  did  you  leave  your  baby,  John?"  but  is  the 
first  mounted  officer  I  see  along  the  line. 

"  Press  where  you  see  my  old  hat  shine, 

Amid  the  ranks  of  war, 
And  be  your  oriflamme  to-day 
This  tile  from  Omaha." 

Macaulay  barbarously  paraphrased  in  the  mud  of  Slim 
Buttes. 

As  the  general  swings  into  saddle  and  out  to  the 
front,  the  skirmish  line  is  spreading  out  like  a  fan, 
the  men  running  nimbly  forward  up  the  ridges.  They 
are  not  well  in  hand,  for  they  fire  rapidly  as  they  run. 
The  volleys  sound  like  a  second  Spottsylvania,  a  grand 
success  as  a  feu  de  joie,  but,  as  the  colonel  indignantly 
remarks,  "They  couldn't  hit  a  flock  of  barns  at  that 
distance,  much  less  an  Indian  skipping  about  like  a 
flea,"  and  orders  are  sent  to  stop  the  wild  shooting. 
That  there  are  hundreds  of  Indians  is  plainly  appar- 
ent from  their  rapid  fire,  but  they  keep  five  or  six 
hundred  yards  away  behind  the  ridges,  peppering  at 
every  exposed  point  of  our  line.  Upham's  battalion 
is  swinging  around  to  the  west ;  Mason  has  pushed 
his  five  companies  square  out  to  the  front  along  the 
plateau,  driving  the  Indians  before  him.  To  his  right 
the  Second  and  Third  Cavalry,  fighting  dismounted 
too,  are  making  merry  music.  And  now,  filing  over 
the  ridge,  comes  the  long  column  of  infantry  ;  and 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK.  129 

when  they  get  to  work  with  their  "  long  toms "  the 
Indians  will  have  to  skip  in  earnest.  The  shrill  voice 
of  their  gray-bearded  old  chief  sends  his  skirmishers 
rapidly  out  on  IJpham's  left,  and  a  minute  more  the 
rocks  are  ringing  with  the  deeper  notes  of  his  mus- 
ketry. Meantime  I  have  counted  at  least  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  Indian  warriors  darting  down  from  one 
single  opening  among  the  bluffs  square  in  Mason's 
front,  and  the  wounded  are  drifting  in  from  his  line 
far  more  rapidly  than  from  other  exposed  points.  The 
brunt  of  the  attack  coming  along  that  plateau  falls 
on  him  and  his  five  companies. 

It  is  growing  darker,  and  the  flashes  from  our  guns 
take  a  ruddier  tinge.  The  principal  occupation  of 
our  officers,  staff  and  line,  has  been  to  move  along 
among  the  men  and  prevent  the  waste  of  ammunition. 
Every  now  and  then  some  young  redskin,  ambitious 
of  distinction,  will  suddenly  pop  from  behind  a  shel- 
tering hummock  and  dash  at  the  top  of  his  pony's 
speed  along  our  front,  but  over  three  hundred  yards 
away,  taunting  and  blackguarding  us  in  shrill  ver- 
nacular as  he  does  so.  Then  the  whole  brigade  wants 
to  let  drive  at  him  and  squander  ammunition  at  the 
rate  of  five  dollars  a  second  on  that  one  pestiferous 
vagabond.  "  Hold  your  fire,  men  !"  is  the  order. 
"  Give  them  half  a  chance  and  some  of  the  painted 
humbugs  will  ride  in  closer." 

By  5.30  the  light  is  so  uncertain  that  we,  who  are 
facing  west  along  the  plateau,  and  have  the  grim  but- 
tresses of  the  Buttes  in  our  front,  can  barely  distin- 
guish the  scudding  forms  of  the  Indians  ;  but  the 
9 


130  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CEOOK. 

flash  of  their  rifles  is  incessant,  and  now  that  they  are 
forced  back  beyond  the  possibility  of  harm  to  our 
centre,  the  orders  are  to  lie  down  and  stand  them  off. 
These  men  crouching  along  the  ridge  are  Company 
"  F,"  of  the  Fifth.  They  and  their  captain  (Payne) 
you  have  heard  more  of  in  the  Ute  campaign.  One 
of  them,  a  keen  shot,  has  just  succeeded  in  knocking 
an  Indian  out  of  his  saddle  and  capturing  his  pony, 
and  even  while  his  comrades  are  shouting  their  congrat- 
ulations, up  comes  Jack  Finerty,  who  seeks  his  items 
on  the  skirmish  line,  and  uses  pencil  and  carbine  with 
equal  facility.  Finerty  wants  the  name  of  the  man 
who  killed  that  Indian,  and,  learning  from  the  eager 
voices  of  the  men  that  it  is  "  Paddy  "  Nihil,  he  de- 
lightedly heads  a  new  paragraph  of  his  despatch  "  Ni- 
hil Fit,"  shakes  hands  with  his  brother  Patlander,  and 
scurries  off  to  take  a  hand  in  the  uproar  on  the  left. 

"The  war  that  for  a  space  did  fail 
Now  trebly  thundering  swelled  the  gale." 

Colonel  Chambers,  with  his  plucky  infantrymen, 
has  clambered  up  the  cliff  on  the  south,  changed 
front  forward  on  his  right  —  practically,  not  tacti- 
cally— and  got  in  a  flank  fire  along  the  very  depres- 
sions in  which  the  Indians  are  settled.  This  is  more 
than  they  can  stand.  The  sun  goes  down  at  Slim 
Buttes  on  hundreds  of  baffled  and  discomfited  Sioux. 
They  have  lost  their  village  ;  lost  three  hundred  tip- 
top ponies.  A  dozen  of  their  warriors  and  squaws 
are  in  our  hands,  and  a  dozen  more  are  dead  and  dy- 
ing in  the  attempt  to  recapture  them  ;  and  the  big 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CKOOK.  131 

white  chief  Crook  has  managed  to  gain  all  this  with 
starving  men  and  skeleton  horses. 

Drawing  in  for  the  night,  we  post  strong  pickets 
well  out  in  every  direction,  but  they  are  undisturbed. 
Now  comes  the  summing-up  of  casualties.  The  ad- 
jutants make  the  weary  round  of  their  regiments 
through  wind  and  rain,  taking  the  reports  of  com- 
pany commanders,  and  then  repairing  to  the  sur- 
geons to  verify  the  lists.  Two  or  three  lodges  have 
been  converted  into  field  hospitals  ;  and  in  one  of 
these,  among  our  own  wounded,  two  of  the  surgeons 
are  turning  their  attention  to  a  captive — the  warrior 
American  Horse.  He  lies  upon  some  muddy  robes, 
with  the  life-blood  ebbing  from  a  ghastly  hole  in  his 
side.  Dr.  Clements  examines  his  savage  patient  ten- 
derly, gently  as  he  would  a  child ;  and,  though  he 
sees  that  nothing  can  save  life,  he  does  all  that  art 
can  suggest.  It  is  a  painful  task  to  both  surgeon  and 
subject.  The  latter  scorns  chloroform,  and  mutters 
some  order  to  a  squaw  crouching  at  his  feet.  She 
glides  silently  from  the  tepee,  and  returns  with  a  bit  of 
hard  stick  ;  this  he  thrusts  between  his  teeth,  and  then, 
as  the  surgeons  work,  and  the  sweat  of  agony  breaks 
out  upon  his  forehead,  he  bites  deep  into  the  wood, 
but  never  groans  nor  shrinks.  Before  the  dawn  his 
fierce  spirit  has  taken  its  flight,  and  the  squaws  are 
crooning  the  death-chant  by  his  side. 

Our  own  dead  are  fortunately  few,  and  they  are 
buried  deep  in  the  ravine  before  we  move  southward 
in  the  morning — not  only  buried  deep,  but  a  thousand 
horses,  in  column  of  twos,  tramp  over  the  new-made 


132  CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CKOOK. 

graves  and  obliterate  the  trace.  You  think  this  is 
but  poor  respect  to  show  to  a  soldier's  grave,  no 
doubt  ;  but  then  you  don't  know  Indians,  and  cannot 
be  expected  to  know  that  as  soon  as  we  are  gone  the 
skulking  rascals  will  come  prowling  into  the  camp, 
hunting  high  and  low  for  those  graves,  and,  if  they 
find  them,  will  dig  up  the  bodies  we  would  honor,  se- 
cure the  scalps  as  .trophies  of  their  prowess,  and  then, 
after  indescribable  hackings  and  mutilations,  consign 
the  poor  remains  to  their  four-footed  relatives,  the 
prairie  wolves. 

Our  wounded  are  many,  and  a  hard  time  the  pa- 
tient fellows  are  having.  Such  rude  shelter  as  their 
comrades  can  improvise  from  the  Indian  tepees  we  in- 
terpose between  them  and  the  dripping  skies  above. 
The  rain  -  drops  sputter  in  the  flickering  watch  -  fires 
around  their  cheerless  bivouac  ;  the  night  wind  stirs 
the  moaning  pines  upon  the  cliffs,  and  sweeps  down 
in  chill  discordance  through  creaking  lodge -poles 
and  flapping  roof  of  hide  ;  the  gaunt  horses  huddle 
close  for  warmth  and  shelter ;  the  muffled  challenge 
of  the  outlying  picket  is  answered  by  the  yelp  of 
skulking  coyote  ;  and  wet,  cold,  muddy,  and,  oh  !  so 
hungry,  the  victors  hug  their  drenched  blankets  about 
their  ears,  and,  grasping  their  carbines,  pillowed  on 
their  saddles,  sleep  the  sleep  of  the  deserving. 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK.  133 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A    RACE    FOR    RATIONS. 

THE  village  of  Slim.  Buttes  destroyed,  General 
Crook  pushed  ahead  on  his  southward  march  in  search 
of  the  Black  Hills  and  rations.  All  Sunday  morning 
Upham's  battalion  of  the  Fifth  Cavalry  covered  the 
rear,  and  fought  back  the  savage  attacks  upon  the 
column  ;  but,  once  well  away  from  the  smoking  ruins, 
we  were  but  little  molested,  and  soon  after  noon  caught 
up  with  the  rest  of  the  regiment,  and  found  the  en- 
tire command  going  into  bivouac  along  a  little  stream 
flowing  northward  from  an  opening  among  towering 
cliffs  that  were  thrown  like  a  barrier  athwart  our 
line  of  march.  It  was  cold,  cheerless,  rainy  weather, 
but  here  we  found  grass  and  water  for  our  famished 
cattle  ;  plenty  of  timber  for  our  fires,  though  we  had 
not  a  thing  to  cook,  but  men  and  horses  were  weak 
and  chilled,  and  glad  of  a  chance  to  rest. 

Here  Doctors  Clements,  Hartsuff,  and  Patzki,  with 
their  assistants,  went  busily  to  work  perfecting  the 
improvised  transportation  for  the  wounded.  There 
was  not  an  ambulance  or  a  field -litter  in  the  com- 
mand. Two  officers — Bache,  of  the  Fifth,  and  Von 
Luettwitz,  of  the  Third  Cavalry — were  utterly  hors 
du  combat,  the  latter  having  left  his  leg  at  the  fight 


134  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 

on  the  previous  day,  and  some  twenty-five  men,  more 
or  less  severely  wounded,  were  unable  either  to  walk 
or  ride  a  horse. 

Frontiersmen  are  quick  to  take  lessons  from  the 
Indians,  the  most  practical  of  transportation  masters. 
Saplings    twelve    feet    in    length   were    cut    (Indian 
lodge -poles  were  utilized)  ;  the  slender  ends  of  two 
of  these  were  lashed  securely  on  either  side  of  a  spare 
pack-mule,  the  heavy  ends  trailing  along  the  ground, 
and  fastened  some   three  feet  apart  by  cross-bars. 
Canvas  and  blankets  were  stretched  across  the  space 
between ;   hereon  one   wounded  man  was  laid,  and 
what  the  Indians  and  plainsmen  call  a  travois  was 
complete.     Over  prairie  or  rockless  road  it  does  very 
well,  but  for  the  severely  wounded  a  far  more  com- 
fortable litter  was  devised.     Two  mules  were  lashed 
"  fore  and  aft  "  between  two  longer  saplings  ;  the  in- 
tervening space  was  rudely  but  comfortably  uphol- 
stered with  robes  and  blankets,  and  therein  the  in- 
valid might  ride  for  hours  as  smoothly  as  in  a  palace 
car.     Once,  in  the  Arizona  mountains,  I  was  carried 
an  entire  week  in  a  similar  contrivance,  and  never 
enjoyed  easier  locomotion  —  so  long  as  the  mules  be- 
haved.    But  just  here  it  may  be  remarked  that  com- 
fort which  is  in  the  faintest  degree  dependent  upon 
the  uniform  and  steadfast  serenity  of  the  army  mule 
is  of  most  uncertain  tenure.     Poor  McKinstry,  our 
wagon  -  master  (who  was  killed  in  Payne's  fight  with 
the  Utes  last  September,  and  whose  unflattering  com- 
parison may  have  been  provoked  by  unhappy  experi- 
ences with  the  sex),  used  to  say  :  "  Most  mules  could 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK.  135 

swap  ends  quicker'n  a  woman  could  change  her 
mind  ;"  and  it  was  by  no  means  required  that  the 
mule  should  "  swap  ends  "  to  render  the  situation  of 
the  poor  fellow  in  the  travois  undesirable,  if,  indeed, 
he  was  permitted  to  retain  it. 

Sunday  afternoon  was  spent  in  doing  the  little  that 
could  be  done  towards  making  the  wounded  comfort- 
able, and  the  manufacture  of  rude  leggins,  moccasins, 
etc.,  from  the  skins  captured  from  the  Indians  on  the 
previous  day.  Sharp  lookouts  were  kept,  but  no  en- 
emy appeared.  Evidently  the  Sioux  were  more  than 
satisfied  that  Crook  was  worse  than  a  badger  in  a  bar- 
rel— a  bad  one  to  tackle. 

Early  on  the  morning  of  the  llth  we  climbed 
stiffly  into  saddle,  and  pushed  on  after  our  chief. 
Our  way  for  some  two  miles  or  more  led  up  grade 
through  wooded  bluffs  and  heights.  A  dense  fog 
hung  low  upon  the  landscape,  and  we  could  only  fol- 
low blindly  in  the  trail  of  our  leaders.  It  was  part 
of  my  duty  to  record  each  day's  progress,  and  to 
sketch  in  my  note -book  the  topography  of  the  line 
of  march.  A  compass  was  always  in  the  cuff  of 
my  gauntlet,  and  note -book  in  the  breast  of  my 
hunting-shirt,  but  for  three  or  four  days  only  the 
trail  itself,  with  streams  we  crossed  and  the  heights 
within  a  mile  or  two  of  the  flank,  had  been  jotted 
down.  Nothing  further  could  be  seen.  It  rained 
eleven  days  and  nights  without  perceptible  stop,  and 
the  whole  country  was  flooded — so  far  as  the  mist 
would  let  us  judge. 

But  this  wretched  Monday  morning,  an  hour  out 


136  CAMPAIGNING   WITH   CROOK. 

from  bivouac,  we  came  upon  a  view  I  never  shall  for- 
get. Riding  along  in  the  Fifth  Cavalry  column — ev- 
ery man  wrapped  in  his  own  thoughts,  and  wishing 
himself  wrapped  in  something  warmer,  all  too  cold  and 
wet  and  dispirited  to  talk — we  were  aroused  by  excla- 
mations of  surprise  and  wonder  among  the  troopers 
ahead.  A  moment  more  and  we  arrived  in  amaze  at 
a  veritable  jumping-off  place,  a  sheer  precipice,  and  I 
reined  out  to  the  right  to  dismount  and  jot  down  the 
situation.  We  had  been  winding  along  up,  up,  for  over 
an  hour,  following  some  old  Indian  trail  that  seemed  to 
lead  to  the  moon,  and  all  of  a  sudden  had  come  ap- 
parently to  the  end  of  the  world.  General  Crook,  his 
staff  and  escort,  the  dismounted  men  and  the  infan- 
try battalion  away  ahead  had  turned  sharp  to  the 
left,  and  could  be  faintly  seen  winding  off  into  cloud- 
land  some  three  hundred  feet  below.  Directly  in  our 
front,  to  the  south,  rolling,  eddjdng  masses  of  fog 
were  the  only  visible  features.  We  were  standing  on 
the  brink  of  a  vertical  cliff,  its  base  lost  in  clouds  far 
beneath.  Here  and  there  a  faint  breeze  tore  rents 
through  the  misty  veil,  and  we  caught  glimpses  of  a 
treeless,  shrubless  plain  beneath.  Soon  there  came 
sturdier  puffs  of  air ;  the  sun  somewhere  aloft  was 
shining  brightly.  We  could  neither  see  nor  feel 
it — had  begun  to  lose  faith  in  its  existence — but  the 
clouds  yielded  to  its  force,  and,  swayed  by  the  rising 
wind,  drew  away  upward.  Divested  of  the  glow  of 
colored  fires,  the  glare  of  calcium  light,  the  shimmer- 
ing, spangled  radiance  of  the  stage,  the  symphony  of 
sweet  orchestra,  we  were  treated  to  a  transformation 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CKOOK.  137 

scene  the  like  of  which  I  have  never  witnessed,  and 
never  want  to  see  again. 

The  first  curtain  of  fog  uplifting,  revealed  rolling 
away  five  hundred  feet  beneath  a  brown  barren,  that 
ghastly  compound  of  spongy  ashes,  yielding  sand, 
and  soilless,  soulless  earth,  on  which  even  greasewood 
cannot  grow,  and  sage-brush  sickens  and  dies  —  the 
"  mauvaises  terres  "  of  the  French  missionaries  and 
fur-traders — the  curt  "  bad  lands  "  of  the  Plains  ver- 
nacular, the  meanest  country  under  the  sun.  A  sec- 
ond curtain,  rising  farther  away  to  the  slow  music  of 
muttered  profanity  from  the  audience,  revealed  only 
worse  and  more  of  it.  The  third  curtain  exposed  the 
same  rolling  barren  miles  to  the  southward.  The 
fourth  reached  away  to  the  very  horizon,  and  vouch- 
safed not  a  glimpse  of  the  longed-for  Hills,  nor  a 
sign  of  the  needed  succor.  Hope  died  from  hun- 
gry eyes,  and  strong  men  turned  away  with  stifled 
groans. 

One  or  two  of  us  there  were  who  knew  that,  long 
before  we  got  sight  of  the  Black  Hills,  we  must  pass 
the  Sioux  landmark  of  "Deer's  Ears" — twin  conical 
heights  that  could  be  seen  for  miles  in  every  direc- 
tion, and  even  they  were  beyond  range  of  my  field- 
glasses.  My  poor  horse,  ugly,  raw  -  boned,  starved, 
but  faithful  "  Blatherskite,"  was  it  in  wretched  pre- 
monition of  your  fate,  I  wonder,  that  you  added 
your  equine  groan  to  the  human  chorus  ?  You  and 
your  partner,  "  Donnybrook,"  were  ugly  enough  when 
I  picked  you  out  of  the  quartermaster's  herd  at  Fort 
Hays  the  night  we  made  our  sudden  start  for  the 


138  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CKOOK. 

Sioux  campaign.  You  had  little  to  recommend  you 
beyond  the  facility  with  which  you  could  rattle  your 
heels  like  shillalahs  about  the  ribs  of  your  compan- 
ions— a  trait  which  led  to  your  Celtic  titles — but  you 
never  thought  so  poorly  of  your  rider  as  to  suppose 
that,  after  you  had  worn  yourselves  down  to  skin  and 
bone  in  carrying  him  those  bleak  two  thousand  miles, 
he  would  help  eat  you  ;  but  he  did — and  it  seemed  like 
cannibalism. 

Well !  The  story  of  that  day's  march  isn't  worth 
the  telling.  We  went  afoot,  dragging  pounds  of  mud 
with  every  step,  and  towing  our  wretched  steeds  by 
the  bridle-rein  ;  envying  the  gaunt  infantry,  who  had 
naught  but  their  rifles  to  carry,  and  could  march  two 
miles  to  our  one.  But  late  that  afternoon,  with 
Beer's  Ears  close  at  hand  at  last,  we  sank  down  along 
the  banks  of  Owl  Creek,  the  Heecha  Wakpa  of  the 
Sioux  ;  built  huge  fires,  scorched  our  ragged  gar- 
ments, gnawed  at  tough  horse  meat,  and  wondered 
whether  we  really  ever  had  tasted  such  luxuries  as 
ham  and  eggs  or  porter  -  house  steak.  All  night  we 
lay  there  in  the  rain  ;  and  at  dawn  Upham's  battal- 
ion, with  such  horses  as  were  thought  capable  of  car- 
rying a  rider,  were  sent  off  down  stream  to  the  south- 
east on  the  trail  of  some  wandering  Indians  who  had 
crossed  our  front.  The  rest  of  us  rolled  our  blankets 
and  trudged  out  southward.  It  was  Tuesday,  the 
12th  of  September,  1876  —  a  day  long  to  be  remem- 
bered in  the  annals  of  the  officers  and  men  of  the  Big 
Horn  and  Yellowstone  expedition  ;  a  day  that  can 
never  be  thoroughly  described,  even  could  it  bear  de- 


CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CEOOK.  139 

scription  ;  a  day  when  scores  of  our  horses  dropped 
exhausted  on  the  trail — when  starving  men  toiled  pit- 
eously  along  through  thick  clinging  mud,  or  flung 
themselves,  weeping  and  worn  out,  upon  the  broad, 
flooded  prairie.  Happily,  we  got  out  of  the  Bad 
Lands  before  noon  ;  but  one  and  all  were  weak  with 
hunger,  and  as  we  dragged  through  boggy  stream-bed, 
men  would  sink  hopelessly  in  the  mire  and  never  try  to 
rise  of  themselves  ;  travois  mules  would  plunge  fran- 
tically in  bog  and  quicksand,  and  pitch  the  wounded 
screaming  from  their  litters.  I  hate  to  recall  it.  Du- 
ties kept  me  with  the  rear-guard,  picking  up  and  driv- 
ing in  stragglers.  It  was  seven  A.M.  when  we  marched 
from  Owl  Creek.  It  was  after  midnight  when  Kel- 
logg's  rearmost  files  reached  the  bivouac  along  the 
Crow.  The  night  was  pitchy  dark,  the  rain  was  piti- 
less ;  half  our  horses  were  gone,  many  of  the  men 
were  scattered  over  the  cheerless  prairie  far  behind. 
But  relief  was  at  hand  ;  the  Belle  Fourche  was  only 
a  few  miles  away  ;  beyond  it  lay  the  Black  Hills  and 
the  stores  of  Crook  City  and  Deadwood.  Commis- 
sary and  couriers  had  been  sent  ahead  to  hurry  back 
provisions  ;  by  noon  of  the  coming  sun  there  would 
be  abundance. 

The  morning  came  slowly  enough.  All  night  it 
had  rained  in  torrents ;  no  gleam  of  sunlight  came  to 
gladden  our  eyes  or  thaw  the  stiffened  limbs  of  our 
soldiers.  Crow  Creek  was  running  like  a  mill-race. 
A  third  of  the  command  had  managed  to  cross  it  the 
evening  before,  but  the  rest  had  halted  upon  the  north- 
ern bank.  Roll-call  showed  that  many  men  had  still 


140  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 

failed  to  catch  up,  and  an  examination  of  the  ford  re- 
vealed the  fact  that,  with  precipitous  banks  above  and 
below,  and  deep  water  rushing  over  quicksands  and 
treacherous  bottom  at  the  one  available  point,  it  must 
be  patched  up  in  some  manner  before  a  crossing  could 
be  effected.  An  orderly  summoned  me  to  the  gen- 
eral's headquarters,  and  there  I  found  him  as  deep  in 
the  mud  as  the  rest  of  us.  He  simply  wanted  me  to 
go  down  and  put  that  ford  into  shape.  "  You  will 
find  Lieutenant  Young  there,"  said  he,  "  and  fifty  men 
will  report  to  you  for  duty."  Lieutenant  Young  was 
there  sure  enough,  and  some  fifty  men  did  report,  but 
there  were  no  tools  and  the  men  were  jaded;  not  more 
than  ten  or  twelve  could  do  a  stroke  of  work.  We 
hewed  down  willows  and  saplings  with  our  hunting 
knives,  brought  huge  bundles  of  these  to  the  ford, 
waded  in  to  the  waist,  and  anchored  them  as  best  we 
could  to  the  yielding  bottom;  worked  like  beavers 
until  noon,  and  at  last  reported  it  practicable  despite 
its  looks.  General  Crook  and  his  staff  mounted  and 
rode  to  the  brink,  but  appearances  were  against  us, 
and  he  plunged  in  to  find  a  crossing  for  himself.  Vig- 
orous spurring  carried  him  through,  though  twice  we 
thought  him  down.  But  his  horse  scrambled  up  the 
opposite  bank,  the  staff  followed,  dripping,  and  the 
next  horseman  of  the  escort  went  under,  horse  and 
all,  and  came  sputtering  to  the  surface  at  our  shaky 
causeway,  reached  it  in  safety  and  floundered  ashore. 
Then  all  stuck  to  our  ford — the  long  column  of  cav- 
alry, the  wounded  on  their  travois  and  the  stragglers 
— and  by  two  P.M.  all  were  safely  over.  The  Belle 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CKOOK.  141 

Fourche  was  only  five  miles  away,  but  it  took  two 
good  hours  to  reach  it.  The  stream  was  broad,  rapid, 
turbid,  but  the  bottom  solid  as  rock.  Men  clung  to 
horses'  tails  or  the  stirrups  of  their  mounted  comrades, 
and  were  towed  through,  and  then  saddles  were 
whipped  off  in  a  dense  grove  of  timber,  fires  glowed 
in  every  direction,  herd  guards  drove  the  weary  horses 
to  rich  pastures  among  the  slopes  and  hillsides  south 
of  the  creek  bottom,  and  all  unoccupied  men  swarmed 
out  upon  the  nearest  ridge  to  watch  for  the  coming 
wagons.  Such  a  shout  as  went  up  when  the  cry  was 
heard,  "Rations  coming."  Such  a  mob  as  gathered 
when  the  foremost  wagon  drove  in  among  the  fam- 
ished men.  Guards  were  quickly  stationed,  but  be- 
fore that  could  be  done  the  boxes  were  fairly  snatched 
from  their  owner  and  their  contents  scattered  through 
the  surging  crowd.  Discipline  for  a  moment  was  for- 
gotten, men  fought  like  tigers  for  crackers  and  plugs 
of  tobacco.  Officers  ran  to  the  scene  and  soon  restored 
order,  but  I  know  that  three  ginger-snaps  I  picked  up 
from  the  mud  under  the  horses'  feet  and  shared  with 
Colonel  Mason  and  Captain  Woodson — the  first  bite 
of  bread  we  had  tasted  in  three  days — were  the  sweet- 
est morsels  we  had  tasted  in  years. 

By  five  P.M.  wagon  after  wagon  had  driven  in.  Dead- 
wood  and  Crook  City  had  rallied  to  the  occasion.  All 
they  heard  was  that  Crook's  army  had  reached  the 
Belle  Fourche,  starving.  Our  commissary,  Captain 
Bubb,  had  bought,,  at  owners'  prices,  all  the  bacon, 
flour,  and  coffee  to  be  had.  Local  dealers  had  loaded 
up  with  every  eatable  item  in  their  establishments. 


142  CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CEO  OK. 

Company  commanders  secured  everything  the  men 
could  need.  Then  prominent  citizens  came  driving 
out  with  welcoming  hands  and  appreciated  luxuries, 
and  just  as  the  sun  went  down  Colonel  Mason  and  I 
were  emptying  tin  cups  of  steaming  coffee  and  for 
two  mortal  hours  eating  flap-jacks  as  fast  as  the  cock 
could  turn  them  out.  Then  came  the  blessed  pipe 
of  peace,  warm,  dry  blankets,  and  the  soundest  sleep 
that  ever  tired  soldier  enjoyed.  Our  troubles  were  for- 
gotten. 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE    BLACK    HILLS. 

IT  was  on  Wednesday  evening  that  our  good  friends, 
the  pioneers  of  Deadwood  and  Crook  City,  reached 
us  with  their  wagons,  plethoric  with  all  manner  of 
provender,  and  the  next  day,  as  though  in  congratu- 
lation, the  bright  sunshine  streamed  in  upon  us,  and 
so  did  rations.  The  only  hard- worked  men  were  the 
cooks,  and  from  before  dawn  to  late  at  evening  not 
an  hour's  respite  did  they  enjoy.  Towards  sundown 
we  caught  sight  of  Upham's  battalion,  coming  in  from 
its  weary  scout  down  stream.  They  had  not  seen  an 
Indian,  yet  one  poor  fellow,  Milner  of  Comany  "A," 
riding  half  a  mile  ahead  of  them  in  eager  pursuit  of 
an  antelope,  was  found  ten  minutes  after,  stripped, 
scalped,  and  frightfully  gashed  and  mutilated  with 
knives,  stone  dead,  of  course,  though  still  warm.  Pony 
tracks  were  fresh  in  the  springy  sod  all  around  him, 
but  ponies  and  riders  had  vanished.  Pursuit  was  im- 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH   CKOOK.  143 

possible.  Upham  had  not  a  horse  that  could  more 
than  stagger  a  few  yards  at  a  time.  The  maddest 
man  about  it  was  our  Sergeant-Major,  Humme,  an 
admirable  shot  and  a  man  of  superhuman  nerve  and 
courage  ;  yet  only  a  few  months  ago  you  read  how 
he,  with  Lieutenant  Weir,  met  a  similar  fate  at  the 
hands  of  the  Utes.  He  fought  a  half-score  of  them 
single-handed,  and  sent  one  of  them  to  his  final 
account  before  he  himself  succumbed  to  the  mis- 
siles they  poured  upon  him  from  their  shelter  in  the 
rocks.  A  better  soldier  never  lived,  and  there  was 
grim  humor  in  the  statement  of  the  eleven  surviving 
TJte  warriors,  that  they  didn't  want  to  fight  Weir  and 
Humme,  but  were  obliged  to  kill  them  in  self-defence. 
Weir  was  shot  dead  before  he  really  saw  the  adver- 
sary, and  those  twelve  unfortunate  warriors,  armed 
with  their  repeaters,  would  undoubtedly  have  suffered 
severely  at  the  hands  of  Humme  and  his  single  shooter 
if  they  hadn't  killed  him  too. 

This  is  digressing,  but  it  is  so  exquisitely  charac- 
teristic of  the  Indian  Bureau's  way  of  doing  things 
that,  now  that  the  peace  commissioners  have  trium- 
phantly announced,  that  the  attack  on  Thornburg's 
command  was  all  an  accident,  and  have  allowed  the 
Indians  to  bully,  temporize,  and  hoodwink  them  into 
weeks  of  fruitless  delay  (the  rascals  never  meant  to 
surrender  the  Meeker  murderers  so  long  as  they  had 
only  peace  commissioners  to  deal  with),  and  now  that, 
after  all,  the  army  has  probably  got  to  do  over  again 
what  it  started  to  do  last  October,  and  could  readily 
have  accomplished  long  ere  this  had  they  not  been 


144  CAMPAIGNING   WITH   CROOK. 

hauled  off  by  the  Bureau,  the  question  naturally  sug- 
gests itself,  how  often  is  this  sort  of  thing  to  be  re- 
peated ?  Year  after  year  it  has  been  done.  A  small 
force  of  soldiers  sent  to  punish  a  large  band  of  Indian 
murderers  or  marauders.  The  small  band  has  been 
well-nigh  annihilated  in  many  instances.  Then  the 
country  wakes  up,  a  large  force  concentrates  at  vast 
expense,  and  the  day  of  retribution  has  come,  when, 
sure  as  shooting,  the  Bureau  has  stepped  in  with  re- 
straining hand.  No  end  of  silk-hatted  functionaries 
have  hurried  out  from  Washington,  shaken  hands  and 
smoked  a  pipe  with  a  score  of  big  Indians ;  there  has 
been  a  vast  amount  of  cheap  oratory  and  buncombe 
talk  about  the  Great  Father  and  guileless  red  men,  at 
the  end  of  which  we  are  told  to  go  back  to  camp  and 
bury  our  dead,  and  our  late  antagonists,  laughing  in 
their  sleeves,  link  arms  with  their  aldermanic  friends, 
are  " dead-headed"  off  to  Washington,  where  they 
are  lionized  at  the  White  House,  and  sent  the  rounds 
of  the  great  cities,  and  finally  return  to  their  reserva- 
tions laden  down  with  new  and  improved  rifles  and 
ammunition,  stove-pipe  hats,  and  Saratoga  trunks, 
more  than  ever  convinced  that  the  one  way  to  get 
what  they  want  out  of  Uncle  Sam  is  to  slap  his  face 
every  spring  and  shake  hands  in  the  fall.  The  ap- 
parent theory  of  the  Bureau  is  that  the  soldier  is  made 
to  be  killed,  the  Indian  to  be  coddled. 

However,  deeply  as  my  comrades  and  myself  may 
feel  on  this  subject,  it  does  not  properly  enter  into  a 
narrative  article.  Let  us  get  back  to  Upham's  bat- 
talion, who  reached  us  late  on  the  afternoon  of  the 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH   CROOK.  145 

fourteenth,  desperately  tired  and  hungry.  We  lost 
no  time  in  ministering  to  their  wants,  though  we  still 
had  no  grain  for  our  horses,  but  the  men  made  merry 
over  abundant  coffee,  bacon  and  beans,  and  bread  and 
molasses,  and  were  unspeakably  happy. 

That  evening  the  general  decided  to  send  back  to 
the  crossings  of  the  swollen  streams  that  had  impeded 
our  march  on  the  12th,  and  in  which  many  horses 
and  mules  and  boxes  of  rifle  ammunition  had  been 
lost.  Indians  prowling  along  owr  trail  would  come 
upon  that  ammunition  as  the  stream  subsided,  and 
reap  a  rich  harvest. 

The  detail  fell  upon  the  Fifth  Cavalry.  One  officer 
and  thirty  men  to  take  the  back  track,  dig  up  the 
boxes  thirty  miles  away,  and  bring  them  in.  With 
every  prospect  of  meeting  hundreds  of  the  Sioux  fol- 
lowing our  trail  for  abandoned  horses,  the  duty  prom- 
ised to  be  trying  and  perilous,  and  when  the  colonel 
received  the  orders  from  headquarters,  and,  turning  to 
me,  said,  "  Detail  a  lieutenant,"  I  looked  at  the  roster 
with  no  little  interest.  Of  ten  companies  of*  the  Fifth 
Cavalry  present,  each  was  commanded  by  its  captain, 
but  subalterns  were  scarce,  and  with  us  such  duties 
were  assigned  in  turn,  and  the  officer  "longest  in" 
from  scout  or  detachment  service  was  Lieutenant 
Keyes.  So  that  young  gentleman,  being  hunted  up 
and  notified  of  his  selection,  girded  up  his  loins  and 
was  about  ready  to  start  alone  on  his  perilous  trip, 
when  there  came  swinging  up  to  me  an  officer  of  in- 
fantry— an  old  West  Point  comrade  who  had  obtained 
permission  to  make  the  campaign  with  the  Fifth  Cav- 
10 


146  CAMPAIGNING   WITH   CROOK. 

ahy  and  had  been  assigned  to  Company  "I"  for  duty, 
but  who  was  not  detailable,  strictly  speaking,  for  such 
service  as  Keyes's,  from  our  roster.  "  Look  here,  King, 
you  haven't  given  me  half  a  chance  this  last  month, 
and  if  I'm  not  to  have  this  detail,  I  want  to  go  with 
Keyes,  as  subordinate,  or  anything  ;  I  don't  care,  only 
I  want  to  go."  The  result  was  that  he  did  go,  and 
when  a  few  days  since  we  read  in  the  Sentinel  that 
Satterlee  Plummer,  a  native  of  Wisconsin  and  a  grad- 
uate of  West  Point,  had  been  reinstated  in  the  army 
on  the  special  recommendation  of  General  Crook,  for 
gallantry  in  Indian  campaign,  I  remembered  this  in- 
stance of  the  Sioux  war  of  1876,  and,  looking  back  to 
my  note-book,  there  I  found  the  record  and  result  of 
their  experience  on  the  back  track — they  brought  in 
fourteen  horses  and  all  the  ammunition  without  losing 
a  man. 

Now  our  whole  attention  was  given  to  the  recuper- 
ation of  our  horses — the  cavalryman's  first  thought. 
Each  day  we  moved  camp  a  few  miles  up  the  lovely 
Whitewood  valley,  seeking  fresh  grass  for  the  ani- 
mals, and  on  September  18th  we  marched  through  the 
little  hamlet  of  Crook  City,  and  bivouacked  again  in 
a  beautiful  amphitheatre  of  the  hills,  called  Centen- 
nial Park.  From  here,  dozens  of  the  officers  and  men 
wandered  off  to  visit  the  mining  gulches  and  settle- 
ments in  the  neighborhood,  and  numbers  were  taken 
prisoners  by  the  denizens  of  Deadwood  and  royally 
entertained.  General  Crook  and  his  staff,  with  a  small 
escort,  had  left  us  early  on  the  morning  of  the 
16th,  to  push  ahead  to  Fort  Laramie  and  set  about 


CAMPAIGNING  WITH  CROOK.  147 

the  organization  of  a  force  for  immediate  resumption 
of  business.  This  threw  General  Merritt  in  command 
of  the  expedition,  and  meant  that  our  horses  should 
become  the  objects  of  the  utmost  thought  and  care. 
Leaving  Centennial  Park  on  the  19th,  we  marched 
southward  through  the  Hills,  and  that  afternoon  came 
upon  a  pretty  stream  named,  as  many  another  is 
throughout  the  Northwest,  the  Box  Elder,  and  there 
we  met  a  train  of  wagons,  guarded  by  spruce  artil- 
lerymen fresh  from  their  casemates  on  the  seaboard, 
who  looked  upon  our  rags  with  undisguised  astonish- 
ment, not  unmixed  with  suspicion.  But  they  were 
eagerly  greeted,  and  that  night,  for  the  first  time  in 
four  long  weeks,  small  measures  of  oats  and  corn  were 
dealt  out  to  our  emaciated  animals.  It  was  touching 
to  see  how  carefully  and  tenderly  the  rough-looking 
men  spread  the  precious  morsels  before  their  steeds, 
petting  them  the  while,  and  talking  as  fond  nonsense 
to  their  faithful  friends  as  ever  mother  crooned  to 
sleeping  child.  It  was  only  a  bite  for  the  poor  creat- 
ures, and  their  eyes  begged  wistfully  for  more.  We 
gave  them  two  nights'  rest,  and  then,  having  con- 
sumed all  the  grass  to  be  had,  pushed  on  to  Rapid 
Creek,  thence  again  to  the  southern  limits  of  the  Hills, 
passing  through  many  a  mining  camp  or  little  town 
with  a  name  suggestive  of  the  wealth  and  population 
of  London.  We  found  Custer  City  a  deserted  vil- 
lage— many  a  store  and  dozens  of  houses  utterly  un- 
tenanted.  No  forage  to  be  had  for  love  or  money. 
Our  horses  could  go  no  farther,  so  for  weeks  we  lay 
along  French  Creek,  moving  camp  every  day  or  two 


148  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CKOOK. 

a  mile  or  more  for  fresh  grass.  It  was  dull  work,  but 
the  men  enjoyed  it ;  they  were  revelling  in  plenty  to 
eat  and  no  drills,  and  every  evening  would  gather  in 
crowds  around  the  camp-fires,  listening  to  some  favor- 
ite vocalist  or  yarn-spinner.  Once  in  a  while  letters 
began  to  reach  us  from  anxious  ones  at  home,  and 
make  us  long  to  see  them ;  and  yet  no  orders  came, 
no  definite  prospects  of  relief  from  our  exile.  At  last, 
the  second  week  in  October  started  us  out  on  a  wel- 
come raid  down  the  valley  of  the  South  Cheyenne, 
but  not  an  Indian  was  caught  napping,  and  finally, 
on  the  23d  of  October,  we  were  all  concentrated 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  Red  Cloud  Agency  to  take 
part  in  the  closing  scene  of  the  campaign  and  as- 
sist in  the  disarming  and  unhorsing  of  all  the  reser- 
vation Indians. 

General  MacKenzie,  with  the  Fourth  Cavalry  and 
a  strong  force  of  artillery  and  infantry,  was  already 
there,  and  as  we  marched  southward  to  surround  the 
Indian  camps  and  villages  from  the  direction  of  Hat 
Creek  our  array  was  not  unimposing,  numerically. 
The  infantry,  with  the  "weak-horsed"  cavalry,  moved 
along  the  prairie  road.  Colonel  Royall's  command 
(Third  Cavalry  and  Noyes's  Battalion  of  the  Second) 
was  away  over  to  the  eastward,  and  well  advanced, 
so  as  to  envelope  the  doomed  villages  from  that  di- 
rection. We  of  the  Fifth  spread  out  over  the  rolling 
plain  to  the  west,  and  in  this  order  all  moved  towards 
Red  Cloud,  twenty  odd  miles  away.  It  was  prettily 
planned,  but  scores  of  wary,  savage  eyes  had  watched 
all  Crook's  preparations  at  the  agency.  The  wily  Ind- 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH   CEOOK.  149 

ian  was  quick  to  divine  that  his  arms  and  ponies 
were  threatened,  and  by  noon  we  had  the  dismal  news 
by  courier  that  they  had  stampeded  in  vast  numbers. 
We  enjoyed  the  further  satisfaction  of  sighting  with 
our  glasses  the  distant  clouds  of  dust  kicked  up  by 
their  scurrying  ponies.  A  few  hundred  warriors,  old 
men  and  "  blanket  Indians,"  surrendered  to  MacKenzie, 
but  we  of  the  Big-Horn  were  empty-handed  when 
once  more  we  met  our  brigadier  upon  the  following 
day.  

CHAPTER  XV. 

DROPPED    STITCHES. 

Now  that  an  unlooked-for  interest  has  been  devel- 
oped in  this  enterprise  of  the  Sunday  Sentinel,  and 
that  in  accordance  with  the  wishes  of  many  old  com- 
rades these  sketches  are  reproduced  in  a  little  volume 
by  themselves,  many  and  many  an  incident  is  recalled 
which  deserves  to  be  noted,  but  which  was  omitted 
for  fear  of  wearying  the  readers  for  whom  alone  these 
stories  of  campaign  life  were  originally  intended,  so 
that  in  this  closing  and  retrospective  chapter  there 
will  be  nothing  of  lively  interest,  except  to  those 
already  interested,  and  it  can  be  dropped  right  here. 

Looking  back  over  it  all,  more  especially  the  toil- 
some march  and  drenching  bivouacs  that  followed  the 
departure  from  Heart  River,  I  wonder  how  some  men 
stood  it  as  they  did.  Among  our  own  officers  in  the 
Fifth,  one  of  our  best  and  cheeriest  comrades  was 
Lieutenant  Bache,  "  a  fellow  of  infinite  jest,"  and  one 


150  CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK. 

to  whom  many  of  us  were  greatly  attached.  He  was 
a  martyr  to  acute  rheumatism  when  he  overtook  us 
with  Captains  Price  and  Payne,  at  the  headquarters 
of  the  Mini  Pusa.  By  the  time  we  met  General  Terry 
on  the  Rosebud,  he  was  in  such  agonizing  helplessness 
as  to  be  unable  to  ride  a  horse,  and  was  ordered  to 
the  Yellowstone  and  thence  to  Chicago  for  medical 
treatment ;  but  while  we  lay  at  the  mouth  of  the  Pow- 
der River  he  suddenly  reappeared  in  our  midst,  and, 
greatly  benefited  by  the  two  weeks  of  rest  and  dry 
clothes  on  the  boat,  he  insisted  that  he  was  well 
enough  to  resume  duty.  The  surgeons  shook  their 
heads,  but  Bache  carried  his  point  with  General  Crook, 
and  was  ordered  to  rejoin  the  regiment.  Then  came 
day  after  day  of  pitiless,  pouring  rain,  night  after 
night  unsheltered  on  the  sodden  ground.  A  cast-iron 
constitution  would  have  suffered  ;  poor  Bache  broke 
down,  and,  unable  to  move  hand  or  foot,  was  lifted  into 
a  travois  and  dragged  along.  When  we  reached  the 
Black  Hills  he  was  reduced  to  mere  skin  and  bone, 
hardly  a  vestige  of  him  left  beyond  the  inexhaustible 
fund  of  grit  and  humor  with  which  he  was  gifted. 
He  reached  Fort  Dodge  at  the  close  of  the  campaign, 
but  it  had  been  too  much  for  him.  The  news  of  his 
death  was  telegraphed  by  Captain  Payne  before  we 
had  fairly  unsaddled  for  the  winter. 

Though  brother  officers  in  the  same  regiment,  so  are 
our  companies  scattered  at  times  that  before  this  cam- 
paign Bache  and  I  had  met  but  once,  and  that  was  in 
Arizona.  To-day  the  most  vivid  picture  I  have  in  my 
mind  of  that  trying  march  in  which  he  figures  is  a 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH   CROOK.  151 

duck-hunting  scene  that  I  venture  to  say  has  never 
been  equalled  in  the  experience  of  Eastern  sportsmen. 
We  had  halted  on  the  evening  of  September  7th,  on 
the  dripping  banks  of  one  of  the  forks  of  the  Grand 
River  (Palanata  Wakpa,  the  Sioux  call  it,  and  a  much 
better  name  it  is),  a  muddy  stream,  not  half  the  width 
of  our  Menominee,  but  encased  between  precipitous 
banks,  and  swirling  in  deep,  dark  pools.  The  grass 
was  abundant,  but  not  a  stick  of  timber  could  we  find 
with  which  to  build  a  fire.  While  I  was  hunting  for 
a  few  crumbs  of  hard-tack  in  my  lean  haversack,  there 
came  a  sudden  sputter  of  pistol  shots  on  the  banks  of 
the  stream,  and  I  saw  scores  of  men  running,  revolver 
in  hand,  to  the  scene.  Joining  them,  I  found  Bache 
reclining  in  his  travois  and  blazing  away  at  some 
objects  in  the  pool  below  him.  The  surface  of  the 
water  was  alive  with  blue-and-green-wing  teal,  and  a 
regiment  of  ravenous  men  was  opening  fire  upon  them 
with  calibre-45  bullets.  Only  fancy  it !  The  wary, 
gamy  bird  we  steal  upon  with  such  caution  in  our 
marshes  at  home,  here  on  the  distant  prairies,  far  from 
the  busy  haunts  of  men,  so  utterly  untutored  by  pre- 
vious danger,  or  so  utterly  bewildered  by  the  fusillade, 
that  hardly  one  took  refuge  in  flight,  while  dozens  of 
them,  paddling,  ducking,  diving  about  the  stream,  fell 
victims  to  the  heavy  revolver,  and,  sprinkled  with  gun- 
powder for  salt,  were  devoured  almost  raw  by  the 
eager  soldiery.  "Great  Caesar's  ghost,"  said  Bache, 
as  he  crammed  fresh  cartridges  into  the  chambers  of 
his  Colt,  "  what  would  they  say  to  this  on  the  Ches- 
apeake ?" 


152  CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK. 

Another  scene  with  Bache  was  at  Slim  Buttes.  In 
order  to  prevent  indiscriminate  pillage  among  the  capt- 
ured lodges  of  the  Sioux,  General  Crook  had  ordered 
the  detail  of  guards  to  keep  out  the  crowd  of  curiosity- 
seekers.  Bache  was  lying  very  stiff  and  sore  near  one 
of  the  large  tepees,  and  I  had  stopped  to  have  a  mo- 
ment's chat  with  him,  when  something  came  crawling 
out  of  a  hole  slashed  in  the  side  by  the  occupants  to 
facilitate  their  escape  when  Lieutenant  Schwatka 
charged  the  village  that  morning  ;  something  so  un- 
mistakably Indian  that  in  a  second  I  had  brought  my 
revolver  from  its  holster  and  to  full  cock.  But  the  fig- 
ure straightened  up  in  the  dim  twilight,  and  with  calm 
deliberation  these  words  fell  from  its  lips  :  "  There 
ain't  a  thing  worth  having  in  the  whole  d — d  outfit." 

Bache  burst  into  amused  laughter.  "  Well,  my  abo- 
riginal friend,  who  in  thunder  are  you,  anyhow  ?  Your 
English  is  a  credit  to  civilization." 

It  was  "Ute  John,"  one  of  the  scouts  who  had 
joined  us  with  the  Shoshones  on  the  Big  Horn,  but 
who,  unlike  them,  had  concluded  to  stand  by  us  through 
the  entire  expedition.  He  was  a  tall,  stalwart  fellow, 
picturesquely  attired  in  an  overcoat  not  unlike  our 
present  unsightly  ulster  in  shape,  but  made  of  a  blanket 
which  had  been  woven  in  imitation  of  numerous  rain- 
bows. The  storied  coat  of  many  colors  worn  by  the 
original  Joseph  was  never  more  brilliant  than  this  un- 
couth garment,  and  about  this  time  an  effort  was  made 
to  rechristen  our  sturdy  ally,  and  call  him  no  longer 
monosyllabic  and  commonplace  John,  but  Scriptural 
Joseph.  Subsequent  developments  in  his  career,  how- 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH   CROOK.  153 

ever,  brought  about  a  revulsion  of  feeling,  as  it  was 
found  that  the  fancied  resemblance  in  characteristics 
ended  with  the  coat. 

We  had  been  accustomed  in  our  dealings  with  the 
Indians  who  accompanied  us  to  resort  to  pantomime  as 
a  means  of  conversation.  Some  of  our  number  prided 
themselves  on  their  mute  fluency — none  more  so,  per- 
haps, than  our  genial  friend  Major  Andy  Burt,  of  the 
9th  Infantry,  who  would  "button-hole,"  so  to  speak, 
any  Indian  who  happened  along  during  his  unoccupied 
moments,  and  the  two  would  soon  be  lost  in  a  series 
of  gyrations  and  finger  flippings  that  was  a  dark  mys- 
tery to  the  rest  of  the  command  ;  and  when  the  major 
would  turn  triumphantly  towards  us  with  his  "  He  says 
it's  all  serene,  fellows,"  we  accepted  the  information 
as  gospel  truth  without  asking  what  "  it "  was.  Bache 
and  I  were  not  a  little  astonished,  therefore,  at  hear- 
ing Ute  John  launch  forth  into  fluent  English,  albeit 
strongly  tinged  with  Plains  vernacular. 

The  most  tireless  men  in  pursuit  of  Indian  knowledge 
were  the  correspondents  of  the  papers.  Frequent 
mention  has  already  been  made  of  Mr.  Finerty,  of 
the  Chicago  Times,  who  was  the  gem  of  the  lot,  but 
the  New  York  Times  and  Herald  were  represented, 
as  were  leading  journals  of  other  large  cities.  With 
one  exception  they  proved  excellent  campaigners,  and 
welcome,  indeed,  genial  associates  ;  but  the  exception 
was  probably  one  of  the  most  unhappy  wretches  on  the 
face  of  the  globe.  He  had  come  out  as  a  novice  the 
year  previous,  and  accompanied  Colonel  Dodge's  ex- 
ploring expedition  to  the  Black  Hills,  and  before  long 


154  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CKOOK. 

developed  traits  of  character  that  made  him  somewhat 
of  a  nuisance.  He  was  wofully  green,  a  desperate 
coward,  but  so  zealous  in  the  cause  of  journalism  that 
anything  he  fancied  might  interest  the  readers  of  the 
paper  of  which  he  announced  himself  "  commissioner  " 
was  sent  on  irrespective  of  facts  in  the  case.  The 
officers  found  him  taking  notes  of  their  conversations, 
jotting  down  everything  he  saw  and  heard  around 
camp,  caught  him  prying  into  matters  that  were  in 
nature  confidential,  and  so  one  night  they  terrified  him 
to  the  verge  of  dissolution  by  preparations  for  defence 
and  the  announcement  that  the  cooing  and  wooing  of 
an  army  of  wood-doves  were  the  death-chants  of  hun- 
dreds of  squaws  as  the  warriors  were  stripping  for  the 
combat.  Another  time  they  primed  him  into  writing 
a  four-column  despatch  descriptive  of  the  "  Camelquo," 
a  wonderful  animal  found  only  in  the  Black  Hills,  the 
offspring  of  the  Rocky  Mountain  elk  and  the  Egyptian 
camel,  the  latter  being  some  of  the  animals  introduced 
into  Texas  just  before  the  war  for  transportation  pur- 
poses, who  had,  so  Mr.  D overheard,  escaped  from 

the  rebels  and  made  their  way  to  the  Northern  plains 
during  the  great  rebellion,  and  there  had  intermarried 
with  the  great  elk,  the  native  of  the  Hills.  The  result- 
ant "  Camelquo,"  so  D enthusiastically  informed 

his  paper,  was  an  animal  of  the  stature  of  the  giraffe, 
the  antlers  of  the  elk,  the  humps  of  the  camel,  the 
fleetness  and  endurance  of  both  parents,  and  the  uncon- 
querable ferocity  of  the  tiger.  How  D came  to 

discover  the  sell  in  time,  my  informant,  Dr.  McGil- 
licuddy,  did  not  remember,  but  to  this  day  the  maps 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK.  155 

of  the  Black  Hills  bear  commemoration  of  the  incident, 
and  Camelquo  Creek  is  almost  as  well  known  as  Spring 
and  Rapid.  Many  a  rough  miner  has  asked  since  '75 
how  in  Hades,  or  words  to  that  effect,  they  came  to 
have  such  queer  names  for  their  streams  in  the  Hills. 
Most  of  them  were  named  by  Colonel  Dodge's  party, 
and  there  was  rhyme  or  reason  in  each,  even  for  Am- 
phibious Creek,  which,  said  McGillicuddy,  we  so  named 
because  it  sank  out  of  sight  so  often  and  came  up  smil- 
ing so  unexpectedly  that  it  only  seemed  half  land,  half 
water. 

On  the  campaign  of  '76,  Mr.  D again  made 

his  appearance  as  commissioner,  started  with  General 
Crook's  staff,  but  ere  long  was  called  upon  to  find  new- 
accommodations  elsewhere.  How  it  all  came  about  I 
never  cared  to  know,  but  after  unpleasant  experiences 
with  first  one  set  and  then  another,  he  gravitated 
eventually  to  the  packers,  who  made  him  do  guard  and 
herd  duty.  He  pushed  ahead  with  Major  Mills's  com- 
mand, and  stumbled  with  them  into  the  morning  battle 
at  Slim  Buttes.  This  he  witnessed  in  a  state  of  abject 
terror,  and  then,  when  the  danger  was  over,  wrote  a 
most  scandalous  account,  accusing  Major  Mills  of  all 
manner  of  misbehavior.  His  paper  published  it,  but 
had  to  eat  humble  pie,  make  a  most  complete  apology, 
and,  I  think,  dismiss  its  correspondent.  Camelquo 

Creek  is  the  only  existing  trace  of  poor  D of  which 

we  have  any  knowledge. 

Once  fairly  in  the  Black  Hills,  and  resting  on  the 
banks  of  French  Creek,  we  set  to  work  to  count  up  the 
losses  of  the  campaign.  In  horseflesh  and  equipments 


156  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CKOOK. 

the  gaps  were  appalling.  Some  companies  in  the  Fifth 
were  very  much  reduced,  and,  of  course,  when  the 
horse  dropped  exhausted  on  the  trail,  there  was  no 
transportation  for  the  saddle,  bridle,  and  "  kit."  It  oft- 
en happened  that  for  days  the  soldier  led  his  horse 
along  the  flanks  of  the  column  or  in  the  rear  of  the 
regiment,  striving  hard  to  nurse  his  failing  strength, 
hunting  eagerly  for  every  little  bunch  of  grass  that 
might  eke  out  his  meagre  subsistence.  In  all  the 
array  of  company  losses  there  was  one,  and  only  one, 
shining  contrast — Montgomery,  with  Company  "  B," 
the  Grays,  calmly  submitted  a  clear  "  bill  of  health ;" 
he  had  not  lost  a  single  horse,  which  was  marvellous 
in  itself,  but  when  "Monty"  proceeded  to  state  that 
every  Company  "  B  "  man  had  his  saddle,  bridle,  nose 
bag,  lariat,  picket-pin,  side  lines,  etc.,  the  thing  was  in- 
comprehensible ;  that  is,  it  seemed  incomprehensible, 
until  the  fact  was  taken  into  consideration  that  those 
companies  which  bivouacked  on  either  flank  of  the 
Grays  woke  each  morning  to  the  realization  of  a  pred- 
atory ability  on  the  part  of  "them  d — d  Company 
*  B '  fellers "  that  rose  superior  to  any  defensive  de- 
vices they  might  invent.  But  Company  "  B  "  could 
not  acquire  gray  horses  at  the  expense  of  the  rest  of 
the  regiment,  whatever  it  might  have  done  in  side  and 
other  lines,  and  the  fact  that  Captain  "Monty"  paraded 
every  horse  with  which  he  started  is  due  to  the  unerring 
judgment  and  ceaseless  vigilance  with  which  he  noted 
every  symptom  of  weakness  in  any  and  every  animal 
in  his  troop,  and  cared  for  it  accordingly. 

As  a  rule,  our  company  commanders  are  not  thorough 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK.  157 

horsemen,  and  too  little  attention  is  devoted  to  the  in- 
struction of  our  cavalry  officers  in  the  subject — but 
Montgomery  is  a  noteworthy  exception.  I  don't  know 
which  class  will  be  the  more  inclined  to  think  me  in 
error  in  the  following  statement,  but  as  a  result  of  not 
a  little  observation  it  is  my  opinion  that,  while  the 
best  riders  in  the  cavalry  service  come  from  West 
Point,  the  best  horsemen  are  from  the  ranks. 

But  for  our  anxiety  about  our  horses,  the  most  en- 
joyable days  of  the  campaign  were  probably  contained 
in  the  first  two  weeks  of  October.  We  were  the  rough- 
est-looking set  of  men  on  the  face  of  the  globe  ;  but 
with  abundant  rations  and  rousing  big  fires  along  the 
valley  of  French  Creek,  with  glad  letters  from  home, 
and  finally  the  arrival  of  our  wagons  with  the  for- 
gotten luxuries  of  tents  and  buffalo  robes,  We  began 
taking  a  new  interest  in  life.  The  weather  was  su- 
perb, the  sun  brilliant,  the  air  keen  and  bracing,  the 
nights  frostily  cold.  Wonderful  appetites  we  had  in 
those  days,  and  after  supper  the  men  would  gather  in 
crowds  around  the  camp-fires  and  sing  their  songs  and 
smoke  their  pipes  in  placid  contentment.  The  officers, 
too,  had  their  reunions,  though  vocalists  were  scarce 
among  them,  and  the  proportions  of  " youngsters"  who 
keep  the  fun  alive  was  far  too  small.  The  year  before, 
those  irrepressible  humorists,  Harrigan  and  Hart,  of  the 
New  York  stage,  had  sung  at  their  "  Theatre  Comiquc" 
a  witty  but  by  no  means  flattering  ditty,  which  they 
called  "The  Regular  Army,  O."  One  of  its  verses, 
slightly  modified  to  suit  the  hearers,  was  particularly 
applicable  to  and  popular  in  the  Fifth  Cavalry,  and 


158  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 

their  adjutant,  when  he  could  be  made  to  sing  "pro 
bono  publico"  was  always  called  upon  for  the  song 
and  sure  of  applause  at  the  close  of  this  verse.     It  ran  : 
"We  were  sent  to  Arizona,  for  to  fight  the  Indians  there; 
We  were  almost  snatched  hald-headed,  but  they  didn't  get 

our  hair. 

We  lay  among  the  canons  and  the  dirty  yellow  mud, 
But  we  seldom  saw  an  onion,  or  a  turnip,  or  a  spud, 
Till  we  were  taken  prisoners  and  brought  forninst  the  chief  ; 
Says  he, "  We'll  have  an  Irish  stew  " — the  dirty  Indian  thief. 
On  Price's  telegraphic  wire  we  slid  to  Mexico, 
And  we  blessed  the  day  we  skipped  away  from  the  Regular 
Army,  O." 

Now  General  Crook  received  his  promotion  to  briga- 
dier-generalship in  Arizona,  after  a  stirring  and  vic- 
torious campaign  with  the  Apaches,  and  the  Fifth 
Cavalry  used  to  boast  at  times  that  his  "star"  was 
won  for  him  by  them.  Soldiers  are  quick  to  attach 
some  expressive  nickname  to  their  officers,  but  I  never 
learned  that  our  general  had  won  this  questionable 
distinction  until  we  joined  him  at  Goose  Creek,  when 
we  found  that  in  the  command  already  there  he  was 
know  as  "  Rosebud  George." 

In  the  hard  times  that  followed  there  was  no  little 
growling  among  the  half-starving  troopers,  because 
the  packers  seemed  to  have  sufficient  to  eat  when 
we  were  well-nigh  destitute.  So  one  night  a  fifth 
verse  was  trolled  out  on  the  still  evening  air  in  a 
strongly  Hibernian  brogue,  and  the  listening  ears  of 
the  Fifth  were  greeted  with  something  like  this  : 

"But  'twas  out  upon  the  Yellowstone  we  had  the  d— dest  time, 
Faix,  we  made  the  trip   vvid  Rosebud  George,  six  months 
without  a  dime. 


•;fr 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CKOOK.  159 

Some  eighteen  hundred  miles  we  went  through  hunger,  mud, 

and  rain, 
Wid  backs  all  bare,  and  rations  rare,  no  chance  for  grass  or 

grain  ; 

Wid  'bunkies  shtarvin'  by  our  side,  no  rations  was  the  rule  ; 
Shure  'twas  ate  your  boots  and  saddles,  you  brutes,  but  feed 

the  packer  and  mule. 
But  you  know  full  well  that  in  your  fights  no  soldier  lad  was 

slow, 
And  it  wasn't  the  packer  that  wonxye  a  star  in  the  Regular 

Army,  O." 

"With  full  stomachs,  however,  came  forgetfulness 
of  suffering,  and  this  with  other  campaign  lyrics  was 
forgotten. 

It  seemed  so  good  to  rest  in  peace  for  day  after  day. 
General  Merritt  with  his  staff,  and  Major  Upham,had 
pitched  their  tents  in  the  shelter  of  a  little  rocky  prom- 
ontory that  jutted  out  into  the  valley  and  was  crowned 
by  a  sparse  growth  of  pines  and  cedars.  One  even- 
ing, as  the  full  moon  shone  down  upon  the  assembled 
party  over  this  ridge,  a  perfectly  defined  cross  ap- 
peared upon  the  very  face  of  the  luminary.  Every 
one  noticed  it,  and  one  of  the  number,  clambering  to 
the  summit,  found  growing  from  a  cleft  in  the  rock  a 
sturdy  little  leafless  branch  about  two  feet  in  length, 
crossed  by  another  and  smaller  twig;  the  cross  was 
perfect,  and  the  effect  in  the  moonlight  something 
simply  exquisite.  "  Camp  Faith  "  was  thereupon  se- 
lected as  the  name  of  cavalry  headquarters.  Some- 
body wanted  a  name  for  the  Fifth  Cavalry  camp,  and, 
in  recognition  of  our  present  blissful  and  undisturbed 
existence,  as  compared  with  recent  vicissitudes,  and 


160  CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK. 

mindful  of  the  martial  palace  of  Sans  Souci  at  Potsdam, 
a  wildly  imprudent  subaltern  suggested  Sans  Sioux 
Iciy  but  it  was  greeted  with  merited  contempt. 

Of  course  all  were  eager  for  intimation  of  our  next 
move.  Occasional  despatches  reached  General  Merritt, 
but  not  a  hint  could  be  extracted  from  him.  Rumors 
of  a  winter  campaign  were  distressingly  prevalent,  and 
the  Fifth  were  beginning  to  look  upon  a  prolonged 
stay  in  the  Hills  as  a  certainty,  when  one  day  an  aide- 
de-camp  of  the  chief's  came  to  me  with  the  request 
that  I  would  make  a  map  for  him  of  the  country  be- 
tween the  South  Cheyenne  and  Red  Cloud  Agency, 
and  let  no  one  know  what  I  was  doing.  A  week  after 
he  wanted  another  sketch  of  the  same  thing,  and  it 
became  evident,  to  me  at  least,  that  before  very  long 
we  would  be  down  along  the  White  River,  looking 
after  "  Machpealota." 

The  campaign  itself  being  virtually  over,  the  recruits 
authorized  by  special  act  of  Congress  to  be  enlisted 
for  the  cavalry  regiments  actively  engaged  began  to 
be  heard  of  at  the  front,  and  one  evening  in  early  Oc- 
tober we  learned  that  some  four  hundred  heroes  were 
on  the  march  from  Fort  Laramie  to  join  the  Fifth, 
and  that  the  Third  was  to  be  similarly  reinforced.  A 
hint  as  to  the  probable  character  of  the  new  levies  was 
also  in  circulation.  Twenty-five  hundred  men  having 
been  suddenly  and  urgently  needed,  the  recruiting  offi- 
cers were  less  particular  in  their  selections  than  would 
otherwise  have  been  the  case,  and  from  the  purlieus 
of  Philadelphia,  Baltimore,  and  New  York  the  scum 
of  the  country  was  eagerly  grasping  this  method  of 


CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK.  161 

getting  to  the  Black  Hills  at  Uncle  Sam's  expense. 
They  were  marching  up  to  join  us,  under  the  command 
of  Captain  Monahan,  of  the  Third  Cavalry,  assisted  by 
Lieutenants  Ward,  Cherry,  and  Swift,  "of  Ours;"  and 
on  the  llth  of  October  General  Merritt  struck  camp, 
the  "  B.,  H.,  and  Y.,"  horse,  foot,  and  dragoon,  bade  fare- 
well to  French  Creek,  and,  after  an  exhilarating  ride 
through  a  wildly  beautiful  and  picturesque  tract  of 
the  Hills,  we  unsaddled,  pitched  our  tents  along  Am- 
phibious Creek,  and  that  evening  the  new  levies  arrived. 
Nobody  cared  particularly  to  see  the  recruits,  but  the 
Fifth  Cavalry  turned  out  to  a  man  to  see  the  new 
horses ;  and  having  called  upon  and  extended  a  welcom- 
ing hand  to  the  comrades  joining  us  for  the  first  time, 
we  made  a  dash  for  the  quadrupeds.  Before  tattoo 
that  evening  there  was  not  one  that  had  not  been 
closely  inspected  and  squabbled  over  by  the  company 
commanders  and  their  men,  and  the  first  thing  the 
next  morning  General  Merritt  ordered  the  distribution 
of  horses,  "  according  to  color,"  to  companies. 

It  was  revealed  that  an  expedition  somewhere  was 
intended  by  his  directing  the  regimental  adjutant  to 
pick  out  the  old  soldiers  among  the  recruits,  assign 
them  to  companies  at  once,  and  then  issue  orders  to 
the  regiment  to  be  in  readiness  to  move  at  daybreak. 

Never  in  my  life  have  I  seen  such  an  array  of  vaga- 
bonds as  that  battalion  of  four  hundred  "  unassigned  " 
when  I  got  them  into  line  on  the  morning  of  the  12th  of 
October  and  proceeded  to  "  pick  out  the  old  soldiers  " 
as  directed.  That  was  a  matter  of  no  difficulty;  they 

were  already  acting  as  non-commissioned  officers  of 
11 


162  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 

the  recruit  companies,  but  were  not  sixty  all  told,  and 
more  were  needed.  Stopping  before  a  sturdily  built 
little  fellow  with  a  grizzled  moustache  and  an  unmis- 
takably soldierly  carriage,  the  only  promising-looking 
man  left  in  the  three  hundred  who  had  "stood  fast" 
when  the  order  was  given  "  men  who  have  served  previ- 
ous enlistments  step  to  front,"  the  adjutant  questioned: 

"  Haven't  you  served  before  ?" 

"  Not  in  the  regulars,  sir." 

"  That  man  is  lame,  sir,"  interposed  a  sergeant. 

"  It  is  an  old  wound,"  says  the  man  eagerly,  "  and 
it's  only  so  once  in  while.  I  can  ride  first-rate." 

"  What  was  your  regiment  ?" 

"  Seventh  Wisconsin,  sir." 

"What!     Were  you  at  Gainesville?" 

"  Yes,  sir.     Wounded  there." 

A  knot  of  officers — Merritt,  Mason,  Sumner,  and 
Montgomery — who  fought  through  the  *war  with  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac,  are  standing  there  as  the  ad- 
jutant turns. 

"Sergeant,  take  this  man  to  Company  "K"  and  fit 
him  out — and — stop  a  moment.  Bring  him  to  my 
tent  to-night  after  supper.  Gentlemen,  that's  an  Iron 
Brigade  man." 

That  evening  a  Company  "K"  sergeant  scratches 
the  flap  of  the  adjutant's  tent — you  cannot  knock  when 
there  is  no  door — and  presents  himself  with  the  recruit- 
veteran.  The  latter  looks  puzzled,  but  perfectly  self- 
possessed  ;  answers  without  hesitation  two  or  three 
rapidly  propounded  questions  as  to  names  of  his  regi- 
mental officers  in  '62,  and  then  seems  completely  be- 


CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK.  163 

wildered  as  the  adjutant  takes  him  cordially  by  the 
hand  and  bids  him  welcome.  However,  it  did  not  re- 
quire many  words  to  explain  the  matter. 

To  return  to  those  recruits.  If  the  police  force 
of  our  large  Eastern  cities  were  at  a  loss  to  account 
for  the  disappearance  of  a  thousand  or  more  of  their 
"  regular  boarders,"  a  flying  trip  to  the  Black  Hills 
on  this  12th  day  of  October,  "76,  would  have  satisfied 
them  as  to  their  whereabouts.  Where  there  were  ten 
"  good  men  and  true  "  among  the  new-comers,  there 
were  forty  who  came  simply  with  the  intention  of  de- 
serting when  they  got  fairly  into  the  Hills  and  within 
striking  distance  of  the  mines,  an  intention  most  success- 
fully carried  out  by  a  large  proportion  of  their  number. 

And  then  the  names  under  which  they  enlisted  ! 
"What's  your  name?"  said  the  adjutant  to  the  most 
unmistakable  case  of  "  Bowery  Boy  "  in  the  front  rank. 

"  My  name's  Jackson  Bewregard,"  is  the  reply,  with 
the  accompaniment  of  hunching  shoulders,  projecting 
chin,  overlapping  under-lip,  and  sneering  nostril  charac- 
teristic of  Chatham  Square  in  the  palmy  days  of  Mose. 

"  And  yours  ?"  to  Mr.  Bewregard's  left  file,  a  big 
rough  of  Hibernian  extraction. 

"  My  name's  Jooles  Vern." 

The  adjutant  glances  at  the  muster-roll  :  " '  No. 
173 — Jules  Verne.'  Ha!  yes.  The  party  that  wrote 
'  Around  the  World  in  Eighty  Days.'  Have  we  many 
more  of  these  eminent  Frenchmen,  sergeant  ?" 

The  sergeant  grins  under  his  great  moustache.  Pos- 
sibly he  is  recalling  a  fact  which  the  adjutant  has  by 
no  means  forgotten,  that  ten  years  before,  when  they 


164  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 

were  both  in  General  Billy  Graham's  famous  light 
battery  of  the  First  Artillery,  of  which  the  adjutant 
was  then  second  lieutenant,  the  sergeant  was  then,  too, 
a  sergeant,  but  with  a  very  different  name. 

Friday,  October  13th — ill-omened  day  of  the  week, 
ill-omened  day  of  the  month — and  we  were  to  start 
on  a  scout  down  into  the  valley  of  the  Cheyenne.  Per- 
haps three  fourths  of  our  number  neither  knew  nor 
cared  what  day  it  was;  but,  be  that  as  it  may,  there 
was  an  utterly  unmistakable  air  of  gloom  about  our 
move.  The  morning  was  raw  and  dismal.  "  The  Gen- 
eral" sounded  soon  after  nine,  and  the  stirring  notes 
fell  upon  seemingly  listless  ears ;  no  one  seemed  dis- 
posed to  shout,  whistle,  or  sing,  and  just  at  ten  o'clock, 
when  we  were  all  standing  to  horse  and  ready  to  start, 
Major  Sumner's  company  sent  forth  a  mournful  little 
procession  towards  the  new-made  grave  we  had  marked 
on  the  hillside  at  the  sharp  bend  of  the  creek,  and 
with  brief  service,  but  sad  enough  hearts,  the  body 
of  a  comrade  who  had  died  the  night  before  was  low- 
ered to  its  rest.  The  carbines  rang  out  the  parting 
volleys,  and  Bradley's  trumpet  keened  a  wailing  fare- 
well. General  Merritt  and  his  staff,  coming  suddenly 
upon  us  during  the  rites,  silently  dismounted  and  un- 
covered until  the  clods  rattled  in  upon  the  soldier's 
rude  coffin,  and  all  was  over.  Then,  signalling  us  to 
follow,  the  chief  rode  on,  the  Fifth  swung  into  saddle, 
and  with  perceptibly  augmented  ranks  followed  in  his 
tracks.  A  battalion  of  the  Third  Cavalry,  under  Colo- 
nel Van  Vliet,  and  a  detachment  of  the  Second,  under 
Captain  Peale,  accompanied  us,  while  the  infantry  bat- 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK.  165 

talion,  the  rest  of  the  cavalry,  the  recruits,  and  the 
sick  or  disabled  remained  in  camp  under  command  of 
Colonel  Royall.  Where  were  we  going  ?  What  was 
expected  ?  None  knew  behind  the  silent  horseman  at 
the  head  of  column  ;  but  a  start  on  Friday,  the  13th, 
to  the  mournful  music  of  a  funeral  march,  boded  ill 
for  success.  However,  not  to  be  harrowing,  it  is  as 
well  to  state  right  here  that  ten  days  from  that  date 
the  scout  was  over,  and,  without  having  lost  man  or 
horse,  the  Fifth  rode  serenely  into  Red  Cloud  Agency. 
So  far  as  the  regiment  was  concerned  that  supersti- 
tion was  exploded. 

The  march  down  Amphibious  Creek  was  grandly 
beautiful  as  to  scenery.  We  wound,  snake-like,  along 
the  stream,  gliding  under  towering,  pine -covered 
heights,  or  bold,  rocky  precipices.  The  valley  opened 
out  wider  as  we  neared  the  "sinks,"  and,  finally,  turn- 
ing abruptly  to  the  right,  we  dismounted  and  led  our 
horses  over  a  lofty  ridge,  bare  of  trees,  and  command- 
ing a  broad  valley  to  the  south,  over  which  the  road 
stretched  in  long  perspective  till  lost  in  dark  Buffalo 
Gap,  the  only  exit  through  the  precipitous  and  lofty 
range  that  hemmed  in  the  plain  between  us  and  the 
Cheyenne  valley  beyond.  Here  we  encountered  an 
emigrant  train  slowly  toiling  up  the  southern  slope 
and  staring  at  us  in  undisguised  wonderment.  Ten 
miles  away  we  came  once  again  "plump"  upon  the  boil- 
ing waters  of  the  creek,  where  it  reappeared  after  a 
twelve-mile  digression  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth.  It 
was  clear  and  fair  when  it  left  us  in  the  valley  behind 
to  take  its  plunge,  and  it  met  us  again  with  a  more  than 
troubled  appearance  and  the  worst  kind  of  an  odor. 


166  CAMPAIGNING   WITH   CROOK. 

Square  in  between  the  massive  portals  of  the  great  gap 
we  unsaddled  at  sunset  and  encamped  for  the  night. 

In  the  scout  which  ensued  down  the  valley  of  the 
South  Cheyenne  there  was  absolutely  nothing  of  suffi- 
cient interest  to  record  in  these  pages.  Nor  had  we 
any  luck  in  our  participation  in  the  "round-up"  at 
the  Indian  reservation  on  the  22d  and  23d  of  October. 
Such  warriors  as  had  remained  near  Camp  Robinson 
meekly  surrendered  to  General  MacKenzie,  and  we  had 
nothing  to  do  but  pitch  our  tents  side  by  side  with  the 
new-comers  of  the  Fourth  Cavalry  and  wonder  what 
was  to  come  next.  General  Crook  was  known  to  be 
in  the  garrison  with  his  aides-de-camp,  and  we  had  not 
long  to  wait.  On  the  24th  of  October  our  motley 
array  received  the  welcome  order  to  go  into  winter- 
quarters,  the  Fifth  Cavalry  on  the  line  of  the  Union 
Pacific  Railroad,  and  within  another  twenty-four  hours 
we  were  en  route  for  the  comforts  of  civilization. 

But,  before  we  separated  from  the  comrades  with 
whom  we  had  marched  and  growled  these  many  weary 
miles,  our  chief  gave  us  his  parting  benediction  in  the 
following  words : 

"IlKAllQlIAETKBS   BlG   IIOEN    AND   YELLOWSTONE  EXPEDITION, 

CAMP  HOBINSON,  NKU.,  October  24,  1ST6. 

"  General  Orders  No.  8. 

"The  time  having  arrived  when  the  troops  composing  the 
Big  Horn  and  Yellowstone  Expedition  are  about  to  separate, 
the  brigadier-general  commanding  addresses  himself  to  the  offi- 
cers and  men  of  the  command  to  say  : 

"In  the  campaign  now  closed  he  has  been  obliged  to  call 
upon  you  for  much  hard  service  and  many  sacrifices  of  personal 
comfort.  At  times  you  have  been  out  of  reach  of  your  base  of 
supplies  ;  in  most  inclement  weather  you  have  marched  -with- 
out food  and  slept  without  shelter  ;  in  your  engagements  you 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CKOOK.  167 

have  evinced  a  high  order  of  discipline  and  courage  ;  in  your 
marches,  wonderful  powers  of  endurance  ;  and  in  your  depriva- 
tions and  hardships,  patience  and  fortitude. 

"Indian  warfare  is,  of  all  warfare,  the  most  dangerous,  the 
most  trying,  and  the  most  thankless.  Not  recognized  by  the 
high  authority  of  the  United  States  Senate  as  war,  it  still  pos- 
sesses for  you  the  disadvantages  of  civilized  warfare,  with  all 
the  horrible  accompaniments  that  barbarians  can  invent  and 
savages  execute.  In  it  you  are  required  to  serve  without  the 
incentive  to  promotion  or  recognition  ;  in  truth,  without  favor 
or  hope  of  reward. 

"The  people  of  our  sparsely  settled  frontier,  in  whose  defence 
this  war  is  waged,  have  but  little  influence  with  the  powerful 
communities  in  the  East ;  their  representatives  have  little  voice 
in  our  national  councils,  wrhile  your  savage  foes  are  not  only 
the  wards  of  the  nation,  supported  in  idleness,  but  objects  of 
sympathy  with  large  numbers  of  people  otherwise  well-informed 
and  discerning. 

"You  may,  therefore,  congratulate  yourselves  that,  in  the 
performance  of  your  military  duty,  you  have  been  on  the  side 
of  the  weak  against  the  strong,  and  that  the  few  people  there 
are  on  the  frontier  will  remember  your  efforts  with  gratitude. 

"  If,  in  the  future,  it  should  transpire  that  the  avenues*  for 
recognition  of  distinguished  services  and  gallant  conduct  are 
opened,  those  rendered  in  this  campaign  will  be  remembered. 

*********** 
"  BY  COMMAND  OF  BRIGADIER- GENERAL  CROOK. 

(Signed)  JOHN  G.  BOURKE, 

"  First  Lieutenant  Third  Cavalry, 
A.D.C.,  and  A.  A.  A.  General:1 

*  The  avenue  was  at  last  opened  by  the  signature  of  the 
President  to  the  bill  providing  that  brevet  rank  might  be  con- 
ferred on  officers  for  gallant  conduct  in  Indian  warfare,  but  it 
came  just  too  late.  General  Crook  had  barely  time  to  express 
his  gratification.  He  died  within  the  week  that  followed,  and 
his  list  of  officers  recommended  for  brevets  for  services  ren- 
dered in  this  campaign  died  with  him. 


168  CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CKOOK. 

To  use  the  emphatic  vernacular  of  the  frontier,  that 
parting  order  "just  filled  the  bill."  It  was  as  com- 
plete a  summing-up  of  the  disadvantages  of  Indian 
campaigning  as  could  well  be  written  ;  it  indicated 
plainly  how  thoroughly  our  general  had  appreciated 
the  sufferings  of  his  men  on  that  hideous  march  from 
Heart  River  ;  it  assured  us  of  the  sympathy  he  had 
felt  for  one  and  all  (though  I  doubt  if  ever  a  one  of 
us  suffered  half  so  much  as  he)  ;  and,  finally,  in  ten- 
dering the  thanks  of  our  commander,  it  conveyed  the 
only  reward  we  could  possibly  expect,  for  had  he  not 
truly  said  that,  of  all  warfare,  Indian  warfare  is  the 
most  thankless? 

Well,  it  was  over  with,  so  far  as  we  were  concerned, 
though  brief  was  our  respite,  and  now  came  the  closing 
scenes  before  the  rising  of  the  morning's  sun  should 
see  us  split  up  into  battalions  or  detachments,  and, 
with  light  feet  and  lighter  hearts,  marching  away  to 
the  south. 

All  night  long,  at  General  Crook's  headquarters,  his 
tireless  staff  were  working  away  at  orders  and  details 
of  the  move,  and  closing  his  report  to  the  lieutenant- 
general  at  Chicago;  and  here,  too,  my  services  were 
kept  in  requisition  preparing  the  map  which  was  to 
accompany  the  written  report,  so  that,  for  us  at  least, 
there  was  no  opportunity  of  sharing  in  the  parting 
festivities  and  bidding  farewell  to  comrades,  cavalry 
and  infantry,  separating  for  the  new  posts  and  the  du- 
ties of  recuperation. 

Our  farewells  were  hurried,  yet  even  now,  how  viv- 
idly I  recall  the  faces  that  crowded  round  headquar- 


CAMPAIGNING   WITH    CROOK.  169 

ters  that  bright  morning  of  the  25th.  Bronzed  and 
bearded,  rugged  with  the  glow  of  health,  or  pallid 
from  wounds  and  illness,  but  all  kindly  and  cordial. 
Then,  too,  the  scenes  of  our  campaign  seemed  passing 
in  review  before  me,  and,  dream-like,  they  linger  with 
me  still.  Glancing  over  these  now  completed  pages, 
how  utterly  meagre  and  unsatisfactory  the  record 
seems;  how  many  an  incident  have  I  failed  to  men- 
tion; how  many  a  deed  of  bravery  or  self-denial  is  left 
untold.  I  look  back  through  the  mists  and  rain  into 
the  dark  depths  of  that  bloody  ravine  at  Slim  Buttes, 
and  wonder  how  I  could  ever  have  told  the  story  of 
its  assault  and  failed  to  speak  of  how  our  plucky  Mil- 
waukee sergeant  sprang  down  in  the  very  face  of  the 
desperately  fighting  Indians  and  picked  up  a  wound- 
ed Third  Cavalryman  and  carried  him  on  his  back  out 
of  further  harm's  way;  and  of  brave,  noble-hearted 
Munson,  as  true  a  soldier  as  ever  commanded  com- 
pany, rushing  in  between  two  fires  to  drag  the  terri- 
fied squaws  from  their  peril ;  of  Bache,  "  swollen, 
puffed,  and  disfigured  with  rheumatism,  conquering 
agony  to  mount  his  horse  and  take  part  in  the  action;" 
of  Rodgers,  striding  down  the  slopes  in  front  of  his 
skirmish-line,  his  glorious  voice  ringing  above  the 
clamor,  laughing  like  a  schoolboy  at  the  well-meant 
efforts  of  the  Indian  sharpshooters  to  pick  him  off  ;  of 
General  Carr,  riding  out  to  the  front  on  his  conspicu- 
ous gray,  and  sitting  calmly  there  to  show  the  men 
what  wretched  shots  some  Indians  could  be. 

How  could  half  the  incidents  be  told  when  so  little 
parade  was  made  of  them  at  the  time  ?     Who  knew 


170  CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK. 

the  night  of  the  stampede  on  the  Rosebud  that  Eaton 
was  shot  through  the  hand  until  he  had  spent  an  hour 
or  more  completing  his  duties,  riding  as  though  noth- 
ing had  happened  ?  Who  knew,  at  the  Rosebud  bat- 
tle, that  Nickerson's  exertions  in  the  saddle  had  re- 
opened the  old  Gettysburg  wound  and  well-nigh  fin- 
ished him?  We  thought  he  looked  white  and  wan 
when  he  rejoined  us  at  Red  Cloud,  but  never  divined 
the  cause.  From  first  to  last  throughout  that  march  of 
eight  hundred  miles,  so  varied  in  its  scenes,  but  so  utter- 
ly changeless  in  discomfort,  there  was  a  spirit  of  uncom- 
plaining "  take-it-as-a-matter-of -course  "  determination 
that  amounted  at  times  among  the  men  to  positive 
heroism.  Individual  pluck  was  thoroughly  tested,  and 
the  instances  of  failure  were  few  and  far  between. 

Despite  the  fact  that  our  engagements  were  inde- 
cisive at  the  time  (and  Indian  fights  that  fall  short  of 
annihilation  on  either  side  generally  are),  the  campaign 
had  its  full  result.  Sitting  Bull's  thousands  were  scat- 
tered in  confusion  over  the  Northwest,  he  himself  driv- 
en to  a  refuge  "  across  the  line,"  his  subordinates  bro- 
ken up  into  dejected  bands  that,  one  after  another, 
were  beaten  or  starved  into  submission,  and  in  the 
following  year  General  Crook's  broad  department, 
the  grand  ranges  of  the  Black  Hills  and  Big  Horn, 
the  boundless  prairies  of  Nebraska  and  Wyoming, 
were  as  clear  of  hostile  warriors  as,  two  years  before, 
they  were  of  settlers,  and  to-day  the  lovely  valleys  of 
the  North,  thanks  to  his  efforts,  and  the  ceaseless  vigi- 
lance of  Generals  Terry  and  Miles  in  guarding  the  line, 
are  the  peaceful  homes  of  hundreds  of  hardy  pioneers. 


ROSTER  OF  OFFICERS 

SERVING  WITH  THE  FIFTH  CAVALRY  IN  THE  BIG  HORN 
AND  YELLOWSTONE  EXPEDITION  OF  1876. 

Colonel  WESLEY  MERUITT,  Brevet  Major-General 

Lieutenant-  Colonel  EUGENE  A.  CARR,  Brevet  Major-General. 

Major  JOHN  J.  UPHAM. 

Major  JULIUS  W.  MASON,  Brevet  Lieutenant-Colonel. 

Captain  EDWARD  H.  LEIB,  Brevet  Lieutenant-Colonel. 

Captain  SAMUEL  S.  SUMNER,  Brevet  Major. 

Captain  EMIL  ADAM. 

Captain  ROBERT  H.  MONTGOMERY. 

Captain  SANFORD  C.  KELLOGG,  Brevet  Lieutenant-Colonel. 

Captain  GEORGE  F.  PRICE. 

Captain  EDWARD  M.  HAYES. 

Captain  J.  SCOTT  PAYNE. 

Captain  ALBERT  E.  WOODSON. 

Captain  CALBRAITH  P.  RODGERS. 

First  Lieutenant  BERNARD  REILLY,  Jr. 

'First  Lieutenant  WM.  C.  FORBUSH,  A.A.G.  Cavalry  Brigade. 

First  Lieutenant  CHARLES  KING,  Adjutant. 

First  Lieutenant  WILLIAM  P.  HALL,  Quartermaster. 

First  Lieutenant  WA~LTE,H  S.  SCHUYLER,  A.D.C.  to  General 
Crook. 

Second  Lieutenant  CHARLES  D.  PARKHURST. 

Second  Lieutenant  CHARLES  H.  WATTS  (until  July,  when  dis- 
abled). 

Second  Lieutenant  EDWARD  W.  KEYES. 

Second  Lieutenant  ROBERT  LONDON. 

Second  Lieutenant  GEORGE  O.  EATON  (until  August  24th,  dis- 
abled August  10th). 

Second  Lieutenant  HOEL  S.  BISHOP. 

Lieutenant  WM.  C.  HUNTER,  U.  S.  X.  ( ' '  Brevet  Commodore  "). 

Second  Lieutenant  ROBT.  H.  YOUNG,  4th  Inf.,  A.D.C.  to  Gen- 
eral Merritt. 

Second  Lieutenant  J.  HAYDEN  PARDEE,  23d  Inf.,  A.D.C.  to 
General  Merritt. 

Second  Lieutenant  SATTERLEE  C.  PLUMMER,  4th  Inf.,  with 
Co.  "I." 

Acting  Assistant  Surgeon  J.  W.  POWELL. 


CAPTAIN  SANTA  GLAUS. 


THERE  was  unusual  commotion  in  the  frontier  min- 
ing town  when  the  red  stage,  snow-covered  and  storm- 
beaten,  lurched  up  in  front  of  the  Bella  Union  and 
began  to  disgorge  passengers  and  mail.  The  crowd 
on  the  wooden  sidewalk  was  of  that  cosmopolitan 
type  which  rich  and  recently  discovered  "leads"  so 
surely  attract — tough-looking  miners  ;  devil-may-care 
cow-boys  with  rolling  hat-brims  and  barbaric  display 
of  deadly  weapons  ;  a  choice  coterie  of  gamblers  with 
exaggerated  suavity  of  manners  ;  several  impassive 
Chinamen  (very  clean)  ;  several  loafing  Indians  (very 
dirty);  a  brace  of  spruce,  clean-shaven,  trim -built 
soldiers  from  the  garrison  down  the  valley  ;  and  the 
inevitable  squad  of  "  beats  "  with  bleary  eyes  and  wolf- 
ish faces  infesting  the  doorways  of  the  saloons,  sub- 
limely trustful  of  a  community  that  had  long  ceased 
to  trust  them,  and  scenting  eleemosynary  possibilities 
in  each  new-comer. 

But  while  the  arrival  of  the  stage  was  a  source  of 
perennial  excitement  in  the  business  centre  of  Argen- 
topolis,  the  commotion  on  this  occasion  was  due  to  the 
tumultuous  welcome  given  by  a  mob  of  school-children 
to  a  tall,  bronzed,  fiercely  moustached  party  the  instant 
he  stepped,  fur-clad,  from  the  dark  interior.  Such  an 


176  CAPTAIN  SANTA  CLAUS. 

array  of  eager,  joyous  little  faces  one  seldom  sees. 
Big  boys  and  wee  maidens,  they  threw  themselves 
upon  him  with  shrill  clamor  and  enthusiastic  embraces, 
swarming  about  his  legs  as,  with  twinkling  eyes  and 
genial  greeting,  he  lifted  the  little  ones  high  in  air 
and  kissed  their  dimpled  cheeks,  and  shook  the  strug- 
gling boys  heartily  by  the  hand,  and  was  pulled  this 
way  and  that  way  until  eventually  borne  off  in  triumph 
towards  the  spickspan  new  shop,  with  its  glittering 
white  front  and  alluring  display  of  fruit,  pastry,  and 
confectionery,  all  heralded  forth  under  the  grandilo- 
quent but  delusive  sign,  "  Bald  Eagle  Bakery." 

Upon  this  tumultuous  reception  Argentopolis  gazed 
for  some  moments  in  wondering  silence.  When  the 
transfer  of  the  children  and  their  willing  captive  to  a 
point  some  dozen  yards  away  rendered  conversation  a 
possibility,  the  spokesman  of  the  sidewalk  committee 
shifted  his  quid,  and  formulated  in  frontier  phrase  the 
question  which  seemed  uppermost  in  the  public  mind  : 

"  Who  'n  thunder's  that  ?" 

"  That  ?"  said  the  soldier  addressed.  "  That's  Cap- 
tain Ransom.  It's  good  times  the  kids  '11  be  having 
now." 

"  B'long  to  your  rigiment  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  captain  of  *  B '  troop.  Been  away  on  leave 
ever  since  we  got  here." 

"  Seems  fond  o'  children,"  said  the  Argentopolitan, 
reflectively.  "  Got  any  of  his  own  ?" 

"  Nary.  He  b'longs  to  the  whole  crowd.  The  '  B ' 
company  fellers  '11  be  glad  he's  back.  They  think  as 
much  of  him  as  the  kids  do." 


CAPTAIN  SANTA  CLAUS.  177 

"  Good  officer,  eh  ?" 

"  You  bet  ;  ain't  no  better  in  the  cavalry." 

At  this  unequivocal  endorsement  from  expert  au- 
thority the  eyes  of  Argentopolis  again  followed  the 
big  man  in  the  fur  overcoat.  With  three  or  four 
youngsters  tugging  at  each  hand,  and  a  dozen  revolv- 
ing irregularly  about  him,  he  was  striding  across  the 
street,  keeping  up  a  running  fire  of  chatter  with  his 
thronging  satellites.  Soldier  he  was  unquestionably. 
Tall,  erect  of  carriage,  broad  of  shoulder,  deep  of 
chest,  with  a  keen,  quick  glance  from  under  his  heavy 
brows.  Eyes  full  of  light  and  fire,  nose  straight  and 
prominent,  a  great  moustache  that  hid  the  curves  of  his 
handsome  mouth  and  swept  out  across  the  square  and 
resolute  jaws— a  moustache  that,  like  the  wavy  brown 
hair  about  the  temples,  was  tingeing  with  gray. 
Strong  white  teeth  glistened  through  the  drooping 
thatch,  and  one  or  two  merry  dimples  dotted  his 
bronzed  and  weather-beaten  cheeks. 

Over  on  the  neighboring  side  street,  from  the  steps 
of  the  schoolhouse,  other  children  surveyed  the  group, 
and  with  envious  eyes  and  watering  mouths  beheld 
the  demolition  of  tarts  and  turnovers.  Despite  the 
keen  and  searching  cold  of  the  mountain  air,  rare  and 
still  and  brimming  with  ozone  as  November  days  can 
ever  find  it,  the  school  shoved  its  hands  deep  in  trou- 
sers pockets  and  stared  with  all  its  youthful  might. 

Even  so  blessed  a  half -hour  must  have  its  end,  and 

as  the  warning  bell  began  to  ring,  and  the  Townies  to 

shout  that  "reecess"  was   over,  the   merry  throng, 

spoil-laden,  came  pouring  down  the  bakery  steps,  with 

12 


178  CAPTAIN  SANTA  CLAUS. 

many  admonitions  to  their  big  benefactor  not  to  think 
of  starting  for  the  fort  until  school  was  out  and  they 
could  escort  him  home.  Two  or  three  of  the  smallest 
still  clung  to  him,  explaining  that  only  the  big  ones 
had  afternoon  school ;  they  were  all  through  ;  they 
had  nothing  to  do  until  the  ambulance  came  to  take 
them  all  at  four  o'clock ;  and  the  captain  became  sud- 
denly aware  of  two  little  people  standing  on  the  side- 
walk and  regarding  him  wistfully.  One  was  a  sturdy 
boy  of  seven,  with  frank  blue  eyes  and  chubby  round- 
ed cheeks — a  picture  of  solid  young  America  despite 
the  fact  that  his  little  fists  were  red  and  bare  ;  his 
knickerbockers,  though  well  fitting,  were  worn  and 
patched  ;  and  the  copper  toes  of  his  cheap,  heavy 
boots  were  wearing  suspiciously  thin.  He  stood  pro- 
tectingly  by  a  little  maiden,  whose  face  was  like  those 
of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's  seraphs  —  a  face  as  pure 
an  oval  as  ever  sculptor  modelled  or  painter  limned, 
with  great,  lustrous,  long-lashed  eyes  and  delicate 
and  dainty  features,  and  all  about  it  tumbled  a  wealth 
of  glistening  golden  hair,  and  all  over  it  shone  the 
look  of  childish  longing  and  almost  piteous  entreaty. 
One  little  mitten  ed  hand  was  clasped  in  her  brother's  ; 
the  other,  uncovered,  hung  by  a  finger  in  her  rosy 
mouth.  She  was  warmly  clad  ;  her  little  cloak  and 
hood  were  soft  and  white  and  fleecy  ;  her  pigmy  legs 
were  cased  in  stout  worsted,  and  her  feet  in  warm 
"arctics,"  and  "mother's  darling"  was  written  in 
every  ornament  of  her  dress. 

Ransom,  stowing  away  a  handful  of  silver,  came 
suddenly  upon   this   silent   pair,  and   stopped  short. 


CAPTAIN  SANTA  GLAUS.  179 

Another  instant  and  he  had  stooped,  raised  the 
younger  child  in  his  strong  hands,  and  with  caressing 
tone  accosted  her  : 

"  Why,  little  Snow-drop,  who  are  you  ?  What  a 
little  fairy  you  are  !" 

"  She  ain't  one  of  us,"  piped  up  a  youthful  patri- 
cian, disdainfully.  "  She's  infantry.  He's  her  brother, 
and  they  don't  belong  to  the  fort." 

The  boy's  face  flushed,  and  he  looked  reproachfully 
at  the  speaker,  but  said  no  word.  Ransom  was  gaz- 
ing with  singular  intentness  into  the  downcast  face  of 
his  little  captive. 

"  Won't  you  tell  me  your  name,  little  one  ?"  he 
pleaded.  "Why  didn't  you  come  in  and  have  some 
tarts  and  turnovers  with  the  others  ?  I've  got  to  run 
now  and  meet  some  other  old  fellows  at  the  stage 
office.  Here,  little  man,"  he  said,  as  he  set  her  down, 
"take  Snow-drop  in  for  me,  and  you  two  just  eat  all 
you  can,  and  you  pay  for  it  for  me."  He  held  out  a 
bright  half-dollar.  Snow-drop's  eyes  glistened,  and 
she  looked  eagerly  at  her  brother. 

But  the  boy  hung  back.  For  an  instant  he  hesitat- 
ed, screwing  his  boot  toe  into  a  convenient  knot-hole 
as  means  of  covering  his  embarrassment.  "  Come, 
Jack,"  said  the  captain,  reassuringly,  touching  him  on 
the  shoulder.  The  little  fellow  shook  his  head. 

"  Why  not,  my  boy  ?"  pleaded  Ransom.  "  Papa 
won't  mind,  when  you  tell  him  it  was  old  Uncle  Hal. 
That's  what  they  call  me." 

A  lump  rose  in  the  youngster's  throat.  His  head 
went  lower. 


180  CAPTAIN  SANTA  CLAUS. 

"  It — it's  mamma  wouldn'-t  like  it,"  lie  finally  said  ; 
and  just  then,  with  rush  and  sputter  of  hoofs,  two 
officers  came  trotting  around  the  corner,  threw  them- 
selves from  their  saddles,  pounced  upon  their  com- 
rade, and  overwhelmed  him  with  joyous  greeting. 
Another  minute  and  others  arrived,  and  between 
them  all  he  was  led  away  up  the  street.  While  some 
of  the  children  confidently  followed,  two  remained 
behind — little  Snow-drop,  refusing  to  be  comforted, 
was  applying  the  back  of  her  mittened  hand  to  her 
weeping  eyes,  and  turning  a  deaf  ear  to  her  manful 
brother,  who  was  vainly  striving  to  explain  matters. 

"Maudie  Carleton's  crying  because  Phil  wouldn't 
take  the  money  and  get  her  some  goodies,"  said  little 
Jack  Wilkins,  in  an  opportune  pause. 

"  Who  did  you  say  ?"  asked  Ransom,  turning  sud- 
denly, and  looking  inquiringly  at  his  friends.  There 
was  an  instant  of  embarrassment.  Then  one  of  the 
officers  replied, 

"Maud  Carleton,  Ransom.  Those  are  poor  Phil 
Carleton's  little  ones." 

"  Wait  for  me  at  the  office,  fellows  ;  I'll  be  along  in 
a  minute,"  was  the  response  ;  and  the  captain  went 
striding  back  to  the  Bald  Eagle. 

It  was  an  old  story  in  the  cavalry.  Very  few  there 
were  who  knew  not  that  Captain  Ransom  was  a  hard- 
hit  man  when  Kate  Perry — the  beauty  of  her  father's 
regiment — came  back  from  school,  and  with  all  the 
wealth  of  her  grace  and  loveliness  and  winning  ways, 
refusing  to  see  how  she  had  impressed  one  or  two 
"solid"  men  of  the  garrison,  fell  rapturously  in  love 


COME,  JACK,'   SAID  THE   CAPTAIN,  REASSURINGLY. 


CAPTAIN   SANTA    CLAUS.  181 

with  Philip  Carleton,  the  handsome,  dashing  scape- 
grace of  the  subalterns.  It  was  "hard  lines"  for  old 
Colonel  Perry  ;  it  would  have  been  misery  to  her  de- 
voted mother  ;  but  she  was  spared  it  all — the  grass 
had  been  growing  for  years  over  her  distant  grave. 

The  wedding  was  a  glitter  of  gold-lace,  champagne 
glasses,  and  tears.  Every  one  wished  her — and  him — 
all  happiness,  but  dreaded  the  future.  There  was  a 
year  of  bliss,  and  little  Phil  was  born  ;  another  year 
when  she  was  much  taken  up  with  her  baby  boy,  and 
the  father  much  abroad — a  year  of  clouds  and  silence. 
Then  came  sudden  call  to  the  field,  and  one  night  with 
reeling  senses  she  read  the  despatch  that  told  her  he 
was  shot  dead  in  battle  with  the  Sioux.  When  little 
Maudie  came  there  was  no  father  to  receive  her  in  his 
arms.  The  gray-haired  colonel  took  the  widow  and 
her  children  a  few  short  years  to  his  own  roof  ;  then 
he,  too,  was  called  to  his  account,  and  with  a  widow's 
pension  and  the  relic  of  her  father's  savings  the  sor- 
rowing woman  moved  from  the  garrison  that  had  so 
long  been  her  home,  and  took  up  arms  against  her  sea 
of  troubles.  She  need  not  have  gone.  All  Fort  Rains 
knew  that  there  were  officers  who  would  gladly  have 
taken  her  and  her  beautiful  children  to  their  fireside. 
But  she  was  loyal,  proud,  high-spirited,  and  she  could 
not  stay.  All  the  roof  her  father  had  to  leave  her 
was  the  frame  cottage  at  the  ranch  he  had  bought 
and  stocked,  a  mile  below  the  fort.  She  was  a  sol- 
dier's daughter,  brave  and  resolute,  she  had  her  fa- 
ther's old  soldier-servant  and  his  wife  to  help  her,  and 
she  moved  to  the  ranch,  and  declared  she  would  be 


182  CAPTAIN  SANTA  CLAUS. 

dependent  on  no  one.  When  first  she  had  come  into 
that  glorious  valley,  a  girl  of  eighteen,  a  large  force 
of  cavalry  was  encamped  around  the  garrison  in  which 
her  father's  regiment  of  foot  was  stationed,  and  Cap- 
tain Harold  Ransom  became  one  of  her  most  devoted 
admirers,  though  nearly  twice  her  age.  Few  men  had 
much  chance  against  such  a  lover  as  Phil  Carleton, 
buoyant,  brilliant,  gallant,  the  pride  of  all  the  juniors 
in  the  infantry,  the  despair  of  many  a  prudent  mother; 
and  when  that  engagement  was  announced,  the  cavalry 
were  rather  glad  to  be  ordered  away,  and  to  comfort 
themselves  with  the  perilous  distractions  of  Indian 
fighting  for  three  or  four  stirring  years.  But,  before 
they  left,  Ransom  and  others  had  bought  much  of  the 
land  on  which  Argentopolis  gleamed  to-day.  Perhaps 
it  was  the  silver  that  came  into  his  hair  as  well  as  his 
pockets,  but  silver  did  not  cause  the  lines  that  crept 
under  his  kindly  eyes  and  around  the  corners  of  the 
firm  mouth.  He  was  rich,  as  army  men  go,  but  his 
heart  was  sorely  wrenched.  He  went  abroad  when 
the  Indian  campaigns  were  over,  and  rejoined  while 
his  comrades  were  on  the  Pacific  coast,  and  became 
the  delight  of  the  children  and  the  children's  mothers. 
Captain  Santa  Claus  they  called  him  at  Walla  Walla 
and  Vancouver,  where  he  was  the  life  of  those  gar- 
risons ;  and  while  men  honored  and  women  waxed 
sentimental  towards  him,  it  was  the  children  who  took 
possession  of  the  tall  soldier  and  made  his  house  their 
home,  who  trooped  unbidden  all  over  it  at  any  hour 
of  the  day,  and  made  it  the  garrison  play-ground  when 
the  rainy  season  set  in  and  drove  them  to  cover. 


CAPTAIN  SANTA  CLAUS.  183 

And  then,  after  their  four  years  in  the  Columbia 
country,  the  regiment  crossed  the  big  range,  and, 
wonder  of  wonders,  headquarters  and  six  troops,  one 
of  them  Ransom's,  were  ordered  to  Fort  Rains  !  He 
was  again  on  long  leave  when  the  change  of  station 
occurred,  and  the  widow  drew  a  long  breath.  She 
found  life  very  different,  with  her  father's  old  friends 
and  hers  removed.  As  the  children  grew  in  years 
their  needs  increased.  She  sold  the  stock  and  much 
of  the  land  of  the  Ranch,  keeping  only  the  homestead 
and  the  patch  around  it,  but  she  was  glad  to  find  em- 
ployment at  the  fort  as  teacher  of  the  piano  and  sing- 
ing. She  played  well,  but  her  voice  was  glorious,  and 
had  been  carefully  trained.  The  news  that  he  was 
coming  had  given  her  a  shock.  It  was  more  than 
eight  years  since  she  had  seen  him.  It  was  more 
than  five  since  she  had  briefly  answered  the  letter  he 
wrote  her  on  hearing  of  her  husband's  death.  It  was 
so  manly,  sympathetic,  and  so  full  of  something  he 
knew  not  how  to  express — a  longing  to  shield  her 
from  want  or  care.  She  had  gently  but  firmly  ended 
it  all. 

And  yet —  She  was  bitterly  poor  now.  Hand- 
somer than  ever,  said  the  officers  who  knew  her  in  the 
old  days  ;  still  wearing  her  mourning,  and  looking  so 
tall  and  majestic  in  her  rusting  weeds.  She  was  a 
woman  whose  form  and  carriage  would  be  noticeable 
anywhere — tall,  slender,  graceful,  with  a  certain  slow, 
languorous  ease  of  motion  that  charmed  the  senses. 
Her  face  was  exquisite  in  contour  and  feature — a 
pure  type  of  blond,  blue-eyed,  Saxon  beauty,  with 


184  CAPTAIN  SANTA  CLAUS. 

great  masses  of  shimmering  golden-brown  hair.  No 
wonder  Ransom  felt  a  thrill  when  he  looked  into 
Maudie's  eyes — the  child  was  her  mother  in  minia- 
ture. At  twenty-seven,  with  all  her  trials,  Mrs.  Carle- 
ton  was  a  lovelier  woman  than  in  her  maiden  radiance 
at  eighteen.  What  she  had  gained  in  strength  and 
character,  through  her  years  of  poverty  and  self- 
abnegation,  God  alone  knew,  and  He  had  been  her 
comforter. 

For  nearly  a  year  the  garrison  children  had  been 
going  in  to  town  for  school,  an  excellent  teacher 
having  been  secured  in  the  East,  and  Mrs.  Carleton 
eagerly  embraced  the  chance  of  sending  hers.  She 
could  no  longer  afford  a  nurse  to  look  after  the  wee 
one.  She  could  not  take  her  on  her  daily  round  of 
lessons,  and  her  infantry  friends  had  gladly  seen  to  it 
that  the  little  Carletons  were  carried  to  and  fro  with 
their  own.  So,  too,  when  the  cavalry  came  had  Col- 
onel Cross  assured  her  that  the  ambulance  should  al- 
ways come  for  them  and  bring  them  back  to  the  post. 
Everybody  wanted  to  be  kind  to  her,  or  said  so  at 
least ;  but  the  ladies  were  all  new  and  strange.  She 
had  never  been  the  pet  among  them  she  was  in  her 
own  regiment.  They  had  not  known  and  loved  her 
father,  as  had  the  colonel.  They  had  heard  of  hand- 
some Phil  Carleton,  as  who  had  not?  but  they  had 
heard  of  Hal  Ransom's  old-time  devotion  to  her,  and 
now  he  would  soon  be  back.  Rich,  growing  gray, 
everybody's  friend,  the  children's  idol — oh  !  what  if 
she  should  set  that  widow's  cap  for  him  now  !  The 
possibility  was  appalling. 


CAPTAIN  SANTA  CLAUS.  185 

And  Christmas  was  coming,  and  the  children  had 
been  weaving  glowing  pictures  of  the  bliss  to  be  theirs 
because  Captain  Santa  Claus  was  homeward  bound, 
and  little  Maud  was  listening  with  eager  ears,  and  her 
blue-eyed  brother  in  silent  longing.  The  boy  was  his 
mother's  knight  and  champion.  She  took  him  into 
her  confidence  and  told  him  many  of  her  troubles,  and 
time  and  again  after  Handle  was  asleep  the  two  were 
rocking  in  the  big  arm-chair  in  front  of  the  hearth, 
the  little  fellow  curled  up  in  her  lap,  his  arms  around 
her  neck,  his  ruddy  cheek  nestled  against  hers,  that 
looked  so  fragile  and  white  by  contrast.  He  knew 
how  hard  a  struggle  mamma  was  having  in  keeping 
the  wolf  from  the  door,  and  he  was  helping  her — lit- 
tle hero  that  he  was — wearing  uncomplainingly  the 
patched  knickerbockers  and  cowhide  boots,  bearing 
in  soldier  silence  the  thoughtless"  jeers  of  his  school- 
mates, and  taking  comfort  in  the  fact  that  sensitive 
little  Maud  was  always  prettily  dressed.  She  had 
been  petted  from  babyhood,  for  scarlet-fever  had  left 
her  weak  and  nervous. 

And  so  the  coming  of  glad  Christmas-tide  was  not 
to  them  the  source  of  boundless  joy  it  seemed  to 
others.  For  days  Maud  had  been  coming  home  from 
school  full  of  childish  prattle  about  the  lovely  things 
the  other  girls  were  going  to  have.  Couldn't  she  have 
a  real  wax  doll,  with  "  truly  "  eyes  and  hair,  that  could 
sing  and  say  mamma  ;  and  a  doll  house,  with  kitchen, 
and  a  real  pump  and  stove  in  it,  and  dining-room  and 
parlor,  and  lots  of  lovely  bedrooms  up-stairs  ;  and  a 
doll  carriage  like  Mabel  Vane's,  with  blue  cushions, 


186  CAPTAIN  SANTA  CLAUS. 

and  white  wheels  and  body,  and  umbrella  top  ?  She 
was  tired  of  her  old  dollies  and  her  broken  wagon. 
Why  didn't  people  ever  give  her  such  beautiful 
things?  If  she  was  very  good,  and  wrote  to  Santa 
Claus,  wouldn't  he  bring  her  what  she  wanted  so  very, 
very  much  ?  Poor  Mrs.  Carleton  !  Do  our  hearts 
ever  ache  over  our  own  troubles  as  they  do  over  the 
longings  of  our  little  ones  ?  She  promised  Maud  that 
Santa  Claus  should  bring  the  very  things  she  craved, 
and  now  she  knew  not  how  to  fulfil  her  pledge.  Com- 
missary and  butcher  bills  were  still  unpaid,  and  she  so 
hated  to  ask  even  for  what  was  due  her !  It  is  such 
an  old,  homely,  heart-worn  story — that  of  Christmas 
yearnings  that  must  be  unfulfilled !  We  lay  down 
our  cherished  plans  with  a  sigh  of  resignation,  but 
when  baby  eyes  and  baby  lips  are  pleading,  God  for- 
give us  if  we  are  not  so  humbly  patient,  if  we  accept 
our  burden  not  without  a  murmur,  or  yield  not  with- 
out a  struggle  ! 

She  had  other  sore  perplexities.  She  well  knew  she 
must  meet  Hal  Ransom.  Two  days  had  elapsed  since 
Phil  had  told  her  of  the  reception  accorded  him,  and 
Maud  had  preferred  her  complaint  against  her  brother 
for  being  so  mean  to  her  in  not  taking  the  money  and 
giving  her  a  treat. 

Heaven  !  how  the  widowed  soul  hugged  her  boy  to 
her  bosom  that  night,  and  kissed  and  blessed  and  cried 
over  him  !  Come  what  might,  he  should  have  a  Christ- 
mas worth  remembering,  for  his  remembrance  of  her  ! 
She  had  long  planned  to  send  to  Chicago  for  a  hand- 
some suit  to  replace  the  worn  and  outgrown  knicker- 


CAPTAIN  SANTA  CLAUS.  187 

bockers.  It  would  have  crushed  her  to  think  of  her 
boy's  taking  money  from  him,  of  all  people,  no  matter 
what  the  Forties  did.  Then  came  the  question  as  to 
how  she  would  meet  him.  Go  to  the  fort  she  had  to 
every  day,  and  meet  they  must.  It  was  not  that  he 
would  be  obtrusive  ;  he  was  too  thorough  a  gentleman 
for  that,  and  her  last  letter  to  him  was  such  that  he 
could  not  be.  It  was  written  in  the  ecstasy  of  her  be- 
reavement, when  she  was  hiding  even  from  herself  the 
faults  and  neglects  of  the  buried  Philip  to  whom  she 
had  given  her  girlish  love.  With  lofty  spirit  she  had 
told  liim  she  lived  only  to  teach  her  children  to  revere 
their  father's  memory,  and  that  she  could  never  think 
of  accepting  aid  from  any  one,  though  she  thanked 
him  for  the  delicacy  and  thoughtf ulness  of  his  well- 
meant  offer.  She  had  asked  herself  many  a  time  in 
the  last  year  whether,  if  it  were  to  be  done  again,  she 
could  find  it  in  her  heart  to  be  quite  so  cold  and  re- 
pellent. She  wondered  if  he  had  ever  heard  that  the 
last  year  of  her  handsome  Philip's  life  had  been  de- 
voted more  to  other  women  than  to  her.  She  could 
not  tolerate  the  idea  that  he,  above  all,  should  suppose 
that  between  Philip  and  herself  all  had  not  been  bliss- 
ful, and  that  she  had  been  neglected  not  a  little.  And 
yet — and  yet  was  she  unlike  other  women  that  just 
now  her  toilet  received  rather  more  thought  than 
usual,  and  that  she  wondered  would  he  find  her  faded 
— changed  ? 

They  met,  as  men  and  women  whose  hearts  hold 
weightier  secrets  must  meet,  with  the  ease  and  cor- 
diality which  their  breeding  demands.  Scene  there 


188  CAPTAIN  SANTA  CLAUS. 

was  none  ;  but  she  saw,  and  saw  instantly,  what  she 
had  vainly  striven  to  teach  herself  she  was  utterly  in- 
different to,  that  in  his  eyes  she  was  no  more  faded 
than  his  love  in  hers.  She  could  have  scourged  her- 
self for  the  thrill  of  life  and  youth  it  gave  her. 

That  night  little  Philip  was  hugged  closer  than 
ever.  He  had  been  telling  her  how  the  captain  was 
moving  into  his  new  quarters,  and  the  children  trooped 
over  there  the  moment  they  got  back  from  school,  and 
would  not  ask  them,  because  they  were  infantry,  and 
Maud  cried,  and  the  captain  himself  came  out  and  took 
her  in  his  arms  and  carried  her,  and  made  him  come 
too,  and  they  all  had  nuts  and  raisins  and  apples,  and 
the  captain  was  just  as  kind  to  them  as  though  they 
were  cavalry — "more  too,  for  he  kept  Maudie  on  his 
knee  most  of  the  time,  and  wanted  us  to  stay,  but  we 
had  to  go  and  meet  mamma.  And  he  said  that  was 
what  made  him  proud  of  me  from  the  first,  because  I 
was  so  true  to  you,  mamma,"  said  Phil.  "  I  suppose 
because  I  wouldn't  take  his  half-dollar." 

She  was  silent  a  moment,  pressing  her  lips  to  his 
cheek,  and  striving  hard  to  subdue  the  tears  that  rose 
to  her  eyes.  She  had  something  to  ask  of  her  boy 
that  was  hard,  very  hard.  Yet  it  had  to  be  done. 

"  You  were  right,  Philip.  It  would  have  hurt  mam- 
ma more  than  words  can  tell  had  you  taken  money 
from — from  any  one.  We  are  very  poor,  but  we  can 
be  rich  in  one  thing — independence.  Mamma  has  not 
had  much  luck  this  year.  It  seemed  all  to  go  with 
papa's  old  regiment.  But  we'll  be  brave  and  patient, 
you  and  mamma,  and  say  nothing  to  anybody  about 


CAPTAIN  SANTA  CLAUS.  189 

our  troubles.  We'll  pay  what  we  owe  as  we  go  along. 
Won't  we,  Phil?" 

"  I  wish  I  could  help  some  way,  mamma." 

"  You  can,  my  soldier  boy." 

He  looked  up  quickly  and  patted  her  cheek  ;  then 
threw  his  arm  around  her  neck  again.  Something 
told  him  what  it  would  have  to  be. 

"  Maudie  is  a  baby  who  cannot  realize  our  position. 
Philip  is  my  brave  little  knight  and  helper.  It — it  is 
so  hard  for  mamma  to  say  it,  my  boy,  but  if  we  buy 
what  she  so  longs  for  at  Christmas,  there  will  be  noth- 
ing left  for  the  skates,  and  I  know  how  you  want  them, 
and  how  many  other  things  you  ought  to  have.  You 
have  helped  mother  so  often,  Phil.  Can  you  help  her 
once  more  ?" 

For  all  answer  he  only  clung  to  her  the  closer. 

And  now  holiday  week  was  near  at  hand.  It  was 
Friday,  and  school  would  close  that  afternoon,  and 
for  two  blessed,  blissful  weeks  there  would  be  no  ses- 
sion at  all.  Christmas  Day  would  come  on  Tuesday, 
and  the  Forties  were  running  riot  in  the  realms  of  an- 
ticipation. They  hugged  each  other  and  danced  about 
the  street  when  the  express  agent  told  them  of  the 
packages  that  were  coming  almost  every  day  for  Cap- 
tain Ransom,  and  the  little  Townies,  who  were  wont 
to  protest  they  were  glad  their  papas  weren't  in  the 
army,  were  beginning  to  show  traitorous  signs  of 
weakening.  It  was  a  sore  test,  if  every  regiment  had 
its  own  Santa  Clans,  as  the  Forties  said. 

And  older  heads  were  noting  that  for  some  time 
Captain  Ransom  drove  not  so  much  townward,  up  the 


190  CAPTAIN  SANTA  CLAUS. 

valley  as  down  ;  and  that  there  was  a  well-defined 
sleigh  track  from  the  lower  gate  over  to  the  Ranch. 
Officers  coming  up  from  the  stables  were  quick  to  note 
the  new  feature  in  the  wintry  landscape,  and  to  make 
quizzical  comment  thereon.  Then,  on  Sunday,  the 
third  in  Advent,  a  heavy  snow-storm  came  up  during 
the  morning  service,  and  the  wind  blew  a  "  blizzard." 
It  was  only  a  few  weeks  after  the  captain's  arrival, 
but  his  handsome  roans  were  well  known  in  the  valley 
already,  and  the  ladies  looked  at  each  other  and  nod- 
ded significantly  as  they  saw  the  team  drawn  up  near 
the  chapel  door  when  the  congregation  came  shudder- 
ing out  into  the  cold.  Mrs.  Colonel  Cross,  who  had  a 
charming  young  sister  visiting  her  for  the  holidays, 
and  Mrs.  Vane,  whose  cousin  Pansy  had  come  over 
from  her  brother's  station  at  Fort  Whittlesey,  had 
both  offered  Ransom  seats  in  their  pews  until  he 
chose  his  own  ;  but  he  had  chosen  his  own  very 
promptly,  and  it  was  well  down  the  aisle  opposite 
that  to  which  Mrs.  Carleton  had  humbly  retired  after 
her  father's  death.  As  a  consequence  the  higher  fam- 
ilies reached  the  door  only  in  time  to  see  the  captain 
bundling  the  widow  and  her  little  ones  in  his  costly 
robes,  and  driving  away  through  the  whirling  storm. 

That  night  the  wind  died  away  ;  the  snow  fell  heav- 
ily, and  all  the  next  day  it  lay  in  silent,  unruffled,  un- 
furrowed  beauty  over  the  broad  level  below  the  fort, 
and  though  the  captain's  sleigh  went  townward  tow- 
ards evening,  and  the  butcher's  "bob"  tore  an  ugly 
groove  along  the  lower  edge,  there  was  now  no  trail 
other  than  the  foot-path  along  the  willow -fringed 


CAPTAIN  SANTA  CLAUS.  191 

river-bank  joining  the  garrison  with  the  widow's  gate. 
When  Friday  came,  and  the  plain  was  still  unfur- 
rowed,  Fort  Rains  was  unanimous  in  its  conclusion  ; 
Captain  Ransom  had  offered  himself  again,  and  been 
rejected. 

The  households  of  Vane  and  Potts,  and  the  ladies, 
at  least,  at  the  colonel's,  breathed  freer.  Captain 
Ransom  was  invited  to  Christmas  dinner  at  all  three 
places,  and  begged  to  be  excused.  He  explained  that 
he  purposed  having  all  the  children  at  his  house  from 
eight  to  ten  for  general  frolic  that  evening — and  would 
not  the  ladies  come  over  and  see  the  fun  ?  Mrs.  Yane 
and  Pansy  were  for  changing  their  dinner  hour  to 
five  o'clock,  if  thereby  the  captain  could  be  secured, 
and  Vane  "sounded"  him,  but  without  the  hoped-for 
result.  He  would  have  to  be  at  home,  he  said.  Mrs. 
Carleton  was  narrowly  watched.  Women  who  had 
been  disposed  to  treat  her  coldly  could  have  hugged 
her  now,  if  they  could  be  sure  she  had  really  refused 
the  best  catch  in  the  cavalry,  and  left  a  chance  for 
some  one  else.  But  Mrs.  Carleton  gave  no  sign,  and 
she  was  a  woman  they  dared  not  question.  What 
staggered  the  theory  of  renewed  offer  and  rejection 
was  the  warmth  and  cordiality  of  manner  with  which 
they  met  in  public — and  they  met  almost  daily.  There 
was  something  that  seemed  to  shatter  the  idea  of  re- 
jection in  the  very  smile  she  gave  him,  and  in  the  rev- 
erence of  his  manner  towards  her.  Estrangement  there 
certainly  was  none,  and  yet  he  had  been  going  over  to 
the  Ranch  every  day,  and  his  visits  had  suddenly  ceased. 
Why  ?  They  scanned  his  face  for  indications  ;  but, 


192  CAPTAIN  SANTA  CLAUS. 

as  Mrs.  Vane  put  it,  "  he  always  was  an  exasperating 
creature  ;  you  could  no  more  read  him  than  you  could 
a  mummy." 

Monday  before  Christmas  had  come,  and  Colonel 
Cross,  trudging  home  from  his  office  about  noon, 
caught  sight  of  the  tall  and  graceful  figure  of  Mrs. 
Carleton  coming  towards  him  along  the  walk.  He 
was  about  to  hail  her  in  his  cheery  style,  when  he  saw 
that  her  head  was  bowed,  and  that  she  was  in  evident 
distress.  Even  while  he  was  wondering  how  to  accost 
her,  she  put  him  out  of  doubt.  Her  lips  were  twitch- 
ing and  her  cheeks  were  flushed  ;  tears  were  starting 
in  her  eyes,  but  she  strove  hard  to  command  herself 
and  speak  calmly. 

"You  were  so  kind  as  to  order  the  'special'  for  me 
this  morning,  colonel,  but  I  shall  not  need  it — I  can- 
not go  to  town." 

He  knew  well  that  something  had  gone  wrong. 
Blunt,  rugged  old  trooper  that  he  was,  he  had  been 
her  father's  intimate  in  their  cadet  days,  and  he 
wanted  to  befriend  her.  More  than  a  little  he  sus- 
pected that  hers  was  not  a  path  of  roses  among  the 
ladies  at  Rains.  In  his  presence  they  were  on  guard 
over  their  tongues,  but  he  had  not  been  commanding 
officer  of  several  garrisons  for  nothing. 

"Mrs.  Carleton,"  he  impetuously  spoke,  "some- 
thing's amiss.  Can't  you  tell  an  old  fellow  like  me, 
and  let  me — ah — settle  things  ?  Surely  it  is  some- 
thing I  can  do." 

She  thanked  him  warmly.  It  was  nothing  in  which 
he  could  be  of  service,  she  declared,  trying  hard  to 


CAPTAIN  SANTA  GLAUS.  193 

smile — she  was  a  little  upset  and  could  not  go  to  town. 
But  he  saw  she  had  just  come  from  Mrs.  Vane's,  and 
he  knew  that  estimable  and  virtuous  woman  thorough- 
ly, and  drew  his  conclusions.  Whatever  was  wrong, 
it  was  not  unconnected  with  her  monitions  or  min- 
istrations— of  that  he  was  confident.  As  for  Mrs. 
Carleton,  she  turned  quickly  from  the  fort  and  took 
her  lonely,  winding  way  among  the  willows  to  her 
valley  home,  a  heart-sick  woman. 

Counting  her  ways  and  means,  she  had  found  that 
to  pay  for  the  items  she  had  promised  Maud  and  had 
ordered  for  her  boy — the  latter  being  the  suit  sent 
"  C.  O.  D."  from  Chicago — she  would  have  to  ask  a 
favor  of  her  patrons  at  the  fort.  She  had  arranged 
with  the  proprietor  of  the  big  variety  store  in  town 
that  he  should  set  aside  for  her  a  certain  beautiful  doll 
and  one  of  the  prettiest  of  the  doll  carriages,  and  that 
she  would  come  and  get  them  on  this  very  afternoon. 
To  meet  her  bills  and  these  expenses,  and  that  there 
might  be  no  disappointment,  she  had  addressed  to  the 
parents  of  her  few  pupils  a  modest  little  note,  enclos- 
ing her  bill,  and  asking  as  a  kindness  to  her  that  it 
might  be  paid  by  Saturday,  the  22d.  Courteous  and 
prompt  response  had  come  from  all  but  two,  and  with 
the  money  thus  obtained  she  had  settled  her  little 
household  accounts.  Mrs.  Yane  and  Mrs.  Potts,  how- 
ever, had  vouchsafed  no  reply,  and  it  was  to  the  moth- 
ers, not  the  fathers,  her  notes  had  been  addressed. 
On  Monday  morning,  therefore,  when  she  went  to  give 
Miss  Adele  her  lesson,  she  ventured  to  ask  for  Mrs. 
Potts,  and  Mrs.  Potts  was  out — spending  the  day  at 
13 


194  CAPTAIN  SANTA  CLAUS. 

Mrs.  Vane's.  So  thither  she  went,  and  with  flushing 
cheeks  and  deep  embarrassment  inquired  if  the  ladies 
had  received  her  notes.  Mrs.  Potts  had,  and  was  over- 
come, she  said,  with  dismay.  She  had  totally  forgot- 
ten, and  thought  it  was  next  Saturday  she  meant ;  and 
now  the  captain  had  gone  to  town,  and  there  was  no 
way  she  could  get  at  him.  Then  came  Mrs.  Vane's 
turn.  Mrs.  Vane,  too,  had  received  her  note,  but  she 
was  not  overcome.  With  much  majesty  of  mien  she 
told  the  widow  that  she  always  paid  her  bills  on  the 
last  day  of  the  quarter,  and  that  her  husband  was  so 
punctilious  about  it  and  so  methodical  that  she  never 
asked  him  to  depart  from  the  rule.  Mrs.  Carleton 
strove  hard  to  keep  down  her  pride  and  the  surging 
impulse  to  cry  out  against  such  heartless  superiority 
of  manner  and  management.  There  was  a  tinge  of 
reproach  in  the  plea  she  forced  herself  to  make  for 
her  babies'  sake.  "  You  know  there  are  no  more  les- 
sons this  term,  Mrs.  Vane  ;  my  work  is  done  ;  and  I 
—so  needed  it  for  Christmas,  or  I  would  not  have 
asked."  And  she  smiled  piteously  through  the  start- 
ing tears.  Mrs.  Vane  was  sorry — very  sorry.  She 
could  hardly  ask  her  husband  to  depart  from  his  life- 
long practice,  even  if  he  were  here — and  he,  too,  had 
gone  to  town. 

Yes,  everybody  seemed  to  have  gone  or  sent  to  town 
for  Christmas  shopping.  Her  little  ones  were  alone 
in  having  no  one  to  buy  for  them.  Harold  Ransom 
too  was  going,  for  she  saw  the  handsome  roans  come 
dashing  up  the  drive,  as  she  rose,  with  a  burning  sense 
of  indignity,  to  take  her  leave.  She  came  upon  Miss 


CAPTAIN    SANTA    CLAUS.  195 

Pansy  in  the  hallway,  all  hooded  and  furred,  and  beam- 
ing with  bliss  at  the  prospect  of  a  sleigh-ride  to  town 
— behind  the  roans,  no  doubt.  Never  mind  that  now. 
Her  heart  was  full  of  only  one  thought — her  babies. 
Where  were  now  her  long-cherished  schemes?  All 
Fort  Rains  was  blithe  and  jubilant  over  the  coming 
festivities  ;  Maud  was  wild  with  anticipation  ;  and 
she  alone — she  alone,  who  had  worked  so  hard  and 
faithfully  that  her  children  might  find  joy  in  their 
Christmas  awaking — she  alone  had  seen  her  hopes 
turn  to  ashes.  In  her  pride  and  her  vehement  deter- 
mination to  be  "  beholden  "  to  no  one,  she  would  seek 
no  help  in  her  trouble.  She  went  home,  asking  only 
to  be  alone,  thankful  that  the  children  were  spending 
the  day  with  friends  in  the  garrison,  and  could  not  be 
there  to  see  the  misery  in  her  eyes. 

Full  an  hour  she  gave  to  her  uncontrollable  grief, 
locked:  in  her  room,  sobbing  in  utter  prostration.  Her 
eyes  were  still  red  and  swollen  ;  she  was  weak,  trem- 
bling, exhausted,  when  the  sudden  sound  of  hoof-beats 
roused  her.  The  blood  flew  to  her  cheeks.  Despite 
her  prohibition,  then,  he  was  here.  He  had  come 
again,  and  something  told  her  he  had  fathomed  her 
trouble,  and  would  not  be  denied.  She  heard  the 
quick,  firm  tread  upon  the  steps,  the  imperative  rat- 
tat-tat  of  the  whip-handle  on  the  door.  She  could 
have  called  to  her  faithful  slave  Mrs.  Malloy,  the 
"  striker's  "  wife,  who  had  known  her  from  babyhood, 
and  bidden  her  tell  the  captain  she  must  be  excused, 
but  it  was  too  late.  Bridget  Malloy  had  seen  her  face 
when  she  came  home  ;  had  vainly  striven  to  enter  her 


196  CAPTAIN  SANTA  CLAUS. 

room  and  share  her  sorrow  ;  had  shrewdly  suspected 
the  cause  of  the  trouble,  and  through  the  key-hole  had 
poured  forth  voluble  Hibernian  fealty  and  proffers  of 
every  blessed  cent  of  her  savings,  but  only  to  be  im- 
plored to  go  away  and  let  her  have  her  cry  in  peace. 
Even  had  Mrs.  Carleton  ordered  her  to  deny  her  to 
the  visitor,  it  is  probable  that  Mrs.  Malloy  would  have 
obeyed — her  own  instincts. 

"  Sure  it's  glad  I  am  to  see  the  captain  !"  was  her 
prompt  greeting ;  "  and  it  was  a  black  day  that  ever 
let  ye  go  from  her.  Come  right  in,  an'  I'll  call  her  to 
ye.  It's  all  broke  up  she  is." 

And  so  she  had  to  come.  There  he  stood  in  the 
little  sanctuary  where  Philip  in  photographed  beauty 
beamed  down  upon  her  from  over  the  mantel,  and 
Philip's  rusting  sword  hung  like  that  of  Damocles  by 
the  fragile  thread  of  sentiment  that  bound  her  to  the 
past.  There  he  stood  with  such  a  world  of  tenderness, 
yearning,  sympathy,  and  suppressed  and  passionate 
love  in  his  dark  eyes  !  She  came  in,  almost  back- 
ward, striving  to  hide  her  swollen  and  disfigured  face. 
He  never  strove  to  approach  her.  With  one  hand 
on  the  mantel,  he  stood  gazing  sorrowfully  at  her. 
With  one  hand  on  the  door-knob,  with  averted  face, 
she  silently  awaited  his  words. 

"I  have  disobeyed  you,  Kate,  though  I  left  my 
sleigh  and  came  on  Roscoe.  I  have  tried  to  accept 
what  you  said  eight  days  ago,  but  no  man  on  earth 
who  has  heard  what  I  have  heard  to-day  could  obey 
you  longer.  No.  Listen  !"  he  urged,  as  she  half 
turned,  with  silencing  gesture.  "I'm  not  here  to 


CAPTAIN   SANTA   CLAUS.  197 

plead  for  myself,  but — my  heart  is  breaking  to  see 
you  suffering,  and  to  think  of  your  being  subjected  to 
such  an  outrage  as  that  of  this  morning.  Of  course  I 
heard  of  it.  I  made  them  tell  me.  The  colonel  had 
seen  your  distress,  and  told  me  you  had  abandoned 
the  trip  to  town.  I  found  out  the  rest.  Yes,  Mrs. 
Carleton,  if  you  so  choose  to  term  it"  (for  she  had 
turned  with  indignant  query  in  her  eyes),  "  I  pried 
into  your  aifairs.  Do  you  think  I  can  bear  this,  to 
know  you  are  in  want — for  want  it  must  be,  or  you'd 
never  have  stooped  to  ask  that  vulgar,  purse-proud, 
patronizing  woman  for  money  ?  Do  you  think  I  can 
live  here  and  see  you  subjected  to  this  ?  By  Heaven  ! 
If  nothing  else  will  move  you,  in  Philip's  name,  in 
your  children's  name,  let  me  lift  this  burden  from 
you.  Send  me  across  the  continent  if  you  like.  I'll 
promise  to  worry  you  no  more,  if  that  will  buy  your 
trust.  I've  lived  and  borne  my  lot  these  eight  or  nine 
long  years,  and  can  bear  it  longer  if  need  be.  What 
I  can't  bear,  and  won't  bear,  is  your  suffering  from 
actual  poverty.  Kate  Carleton,  won't  you  trust  me  ?" 

"How  can  I  be  your  debtor,  Captain  Ransom? 
Ask  yourself — ask  any  one — what  would  be  said  of 
me  if  I  took  one  cent  from  you  !  I  do  thank  you.  I 
am  grateful  for  all  you  have  done  and  would  do.  Oh, 
it  is  not  that  I  do  not  bless  you  every  day  and  night 
for  being  so  thoughtful  for  me,  so  good  to  my  little 
ones  !  It  wasn't  for  myself  I  was  so  broken  to-day  ; 
it  was  for  my — my  babies.  Oh,  I — I  cannot  tell  you  !" 

And  now  she  broke  down  utterly,  weeping  hysteri- 
cally, uncontrollably.  In  the  abandonment  of  her 


198  CAPTAIN  SANTA  CLAUS. 

grief  she  threw  her  arms  upon  the  wooden  casing  of 
the  doorway,  and  bowed  her  head  upon  them.  One 
instant  he  stood  there,  his  hands  fiercely  clinching,  his 
broad  chest  heaving,  his  bronzed,  honest,  earnest  face 
working  with  his  weight  of  emotion,  and  then,  with 
uncontrollable  impulse,  with  one  bound  he  leaped  to 
her  side,  seized  her  slender  form  in  his  arms,  and 
clasped  her  to  his  breast.  In  vain  she  struggled  ;  in 
vain  her  startled  eyes,  filled  with  resolute  loyalty  to 
the  old  faith,  blazed  at  him  through  their  mist  of 
tears  ;  he  held  her  close,  as  once  again,  despite  her 
struggles  and  her  forbidding  words,  he  poured  forth 
his  plea. 

"  You  can  take  it,  you  must  take  it.  For  your  own 
sake,  for  your  children's  sake — even  for  his  ! — give  me 
the  right  to  protect  and  cherish  you.  I — I  don't  ask 
your  love.  Ah,  Kate,  be  merciful !"  and  then — fatal 
inspiration  ! — but  the  face  he  loved  was  so — so  near  ; 
he  never  would  have  done  it  had  he  thought — it  was 
only  as  utterly  unconquerable  an  impulse  as  his  wild 
embrace  ;  his  lips  were  so  tremulous  with  entreaty, 
with  love,  sympathy,  pleading,  pity,  passion,  every- 
thing that  impelled  and  nothing  that  restrained,  that 
with  sudden  sweep  they  fell  upon  her  flushed  and  tear- 
wet  cheek,  and  ere  he  knew  it  he  had  kissed  her. 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  wrath  in  her  eyes  now. 
She  was  free  in  an  instant,  and  bidding  him  begone. 
He  begged  hard  for  pardon,  but  to  no  purpose.  She 
would  listen  to  nothing.  Go  he  must — his  presence 
was  insult.  And  he  left  her  panting  with  indignation, 
a  vengeance-hurling  goddess,  a  wild-eyed  Juno,  while 


CAPTAIN  SANTA  CLAUS.  199 

he  at  full  gallop  went  tearing  through  the  snow-drifts, 
recklessly,  dolefully,  yet  determinedly,  back  to  the 
post.  In  half  an  hour  he  was  whipping  to  town. 

When  sunset  came,  and  the  evening  gun  awakened 
the  echoes  of  the  snow-shrouded  valley,  and  the  red 
disk  went  down  behind  the  crested  bluffs  far  up  the 
stream,  a  sleigh  came  out  from  the  fort,  and  Captain 
Vane,  with  curious  mixture  of  cordiality  and  embar- 
rassment, restored  Phil  and  Maud  to  the  maternal 
roof,  and  begged  to  hand  her  the  amount  due  from 
him  and  from  Captain  Potts  for  family  tuition.  He 
had  only  heard  a — accidentally — a  few  minutes  be- 
fore, of  her  request.  And  wasn't  there  something 
else  he  could  do  ?  Would  she  not  go  to  town  with 
him  to-morrow  morning?  She  thanked  him.  She 
hardly  knew  what  to  do.  Here  was  the  money  at 
last,  but  it  was  Christmas  eve  now,  and  there  was  no 
time  to  be  lost,  and  town  lay  full  six  miles  away. 
Perhaps  she  wished  a  messenger  now,  suggested  the 
captain — he  would  send  in  a  mounted  man  gladly. 
Knowing  no  other  way  to  secure  her  treasures  for  her 
little  ones,  she  breathlessly  accepted  his  offer,  briefly 
explained  the  situation,  and  told  him  how  she  longed 
to  have  the  presents  there,  with  the  trifles  she  had 
made  for  them,  to  greet  their  eyes  with  the  coming 
day.  The  messenger  could  go  to  the  store  and  get 
the  coveted  doll  and  carriage  ;  there  would  surely  be 
sleighs  from  the  fort  that  would  bring  them  out  for 
him,  and  he  would  find  the  box  from  Chicago  at  the 
express  office,  and  could  pay  the  charges  and  sign  the 
receipt  on  her  written  order  to  the  agent.  It  was  ar- 


200  CAPTAIN  SANTA  CLAUS. 

ranged  in  a  moment,  and  with  reviving  hope  she  gave 
the  children  their  tea  and  strove  to  get  them  early  to 
bed. 

Ten  o'clock  came.  The  little  ones  were  at  last 
asleep.  She  had  filled  the  stockings  with  such  inex- 
pensive but  loving  remembrances  as  she  could  afford, 
and  had  tottered  dangerously  near  the  brink  of  an- 
other flood  of  tears  when  Malloy  and  his  wife  came 
in,  the  one  with  a  box  of  tools  for  Phil,  the  other  with 
a  set  of  china  for  the  doll-house.  She  had  finally  bid- 
den those  faithful  friends  good-night,  and,  having  ar- 
ranged the  few  gifts  she  had  for  the  children,  she 
threw  over  her  shoulders  a  heavy  shawl  and  went  to 
the  gate  to  listen  for  the  messenger's  return. 

It  was  a  perfect  night  —  clear,  still,  and  sparkling. 
The  moon  shone  brightly  upon  the  glistening  mantle 
of  snow,  and  tinged  with  silver  the  pine  crests  across 
the  stream.  Westward,  on  a  little  rise,  were  the  twink- 
ling lights  of  the  fort.  Far  beyond,  far  up  the  nar- 
rowing valley,  other  lights,  dim  and  distant,  marked 
the  position  of  the  town.  She  could  hear  the  faint, 
muffled  sound  of  shots  with  which  the  benighted  but 
jubilant  frontiersmen  were  hailing  the  coming  of  the 
sacred  anniversary,  like  some  midwinter  Fourth  of 
July,  with  exuberant  and  explosive  hilarity.  Then, 
nearer  at  hand,  soft,  sweet,  and  solemn,  there  floated 
out  over  the  valley  the  prolonged  notes  of  the  cavalry 
trumpet  sounding  the  signal  "Lights  out,"  the  "good- 
night "  of  the  garrison.  Then  all  the  broad  windows 
of  the  barracks  were  shrouded  in  sudden  gloom;  only 
in  the  quarters  of  the  officers,  on  the  opposite  side  of 


CAPTAIN  SANTA  CLAUS.  201 

the  parade,  were  the  lights  still  twinkling.  In  one  of 
them,  nearest  the  gate,  high  up  aloft,  and  close  under 
the  gables,  there  gleamed  a  brighter  light  than  all  the 
others.  Even  in  the  chilly  air  she  felt  the  flush  of 
blood  to  her  cheeks.  That  was  Ransom's  house.  She 
well  knew  he  had  chosen  it,  farthest  from  the  quarters 
and  stables  of  his  troop,  simply  because  it  was  at  the 
end  of  the  row,  overlooking  the  valley,  and  nearest 
her.  Two  weeks  since  he  had  said  to  her  that  he 
could  not  rid  himself  of  the  thought  of  her  isolation. 
Though  off  the  beaten  track  a  full  three-quarter  mile, 
and  within  long  carbine-range  of  the  sentries,  she  was 
still  far  away,  almost  unprotected.  Though  Indians 
were  no  longer  to  be  feared,  there  were  such  things 
as  tramps  and  blackguards  in  the  settlements.  She 
laughed  at  his  fears.  She  had  lived  there  three  years, 
and  never  heard  a  sound  at  night  other  than  the  occa- 
sional howl  of  a  coyote  and  the  distant  watch-cry  of 
the  sentries.  She  had  brave  old  Malloy  with  his  gun, 
and  Bridget  with  her  tongue  and  nails;  she  had  Phil- 
ip's sword,  her  own  brave  spirit,  and  her  boy  :  what 
had  she  to  fear  ? 

All  the  same,  struggle  against  it  though  she  would, 
it  was  sweet  to  hear  his  anxious  questioning.  Even  if 
unmolested  by  marauders,  something  might  go  wrong 
— Maudie  have  croup,  a  kerosene  lamp  burst.  She 
might  need  help.  Who  knew  ?  "I  shall  put  a  bright 
lamp  and  reflector  in  the  little  round  garret  window 
every  night  as  soon  as  I  get  home,"  he  said,  "and, 
should  you  ever  be  in  danger  or  need,  throw  a  red 
handkerchief  over  your  biggest  lantern,  and  show  it 


202  CAPTAIN  SANTA  GLAUS. 

at  the  top  window.  If  the  sentries  don't  see  it  at  once, 
fire  Malloy's  gun."  She  promised,  laughingly,  though 
repudiating  the  possibility.  She  had  told  herself  that 
Philip's  spirit  was  all  the  protection  she  needed;  but 
the  night  landscape  of  the  valley,  the  night  lights  at 
the  fort,  had  acquired  of  late  an  interest  they  never 
knew  before.  She  would  have  scourged  herself  had 
she  believed,  she  would  have  stormed  at  any  one  who 
suggested,  that  she  went  to  look  for  his  light;  but  if 
ever  it  failed  to  be  there,  at  ten  or  eleven  or  later,  she 
knew  it.  Whatever  might  be  his  evening  occupation 
at  the  fort  —  a  dinner,  a  card-party,  officers'  school, 
"non-coms."'  recitation — it  was  his  habit  on  reaching 
home  to  go  at  once  to  the  garret  and  post  his  sentinel 
light.  What  would  he  not  have  given  for  an  answer- 
ing signal  ? 

And  there  was  the  light  now.  He  was  home,  then, 
and,  despite  her  anger  and  his  banishment,  he  was 
faithful.  Christmas  eve,  and  only  ten,  and  he  was 
home  and  watching  over  her.  She  was  still  quivering 
with  wrath  at  him  for  that  ravished  kiss — at  least  she 
told  herself  she  was,  and  had  told  him  a  great  deal 
more.  Was  it  quite  fair  to  drive  him  from  her  home, 
as  she  had,  when  Phil  was  so  fond  of  him  and  Maudie 
loved  him  so,  and  he  was  so  devoted  to  them  ?  What 
could  he  be  doing  at  home  so  early?  There  was  a 
party  at  the  adjutant's,  she  knew.  She  had  been 
obliged  to  decline.  She  had  three  invitations  for 
Christmas  dinners,  and  had  said  no  to  all,  gratefully. 
There  were  many  who  wanted  to  be  kind  to  her,  but 
she  had  only  one  dress  she  considered  fit  to  wear,  so, 


CAPTAIN  SANTA  CLAUS.  203 

too,  had  little  Maud,  and  as  for  her  brave  boy  Phil, 
he  had  nothing — unless  the  suit  from  Chicago  came 
in  time.  Without  that  he  could  not  go  to  the  cap- 
tain's Christmas-tree.  Why  did  not  the  messenger 
return  ?  She  was  becoming  feverishly  anxious. 

It  was  too  cold  to  remain  out-of-doors.  She  re- 
entered,  and  paced  fitfully  up  and  down  her  little  par- 
lor. She  went  in  and  bent  over  her  sleeping  children, 
and  rearranged  the  coverlets  with  the  noiseless  touch 
of  the  mother's  hand;  she  leaned  over  and  kissed  them 
softly,  and  now  that  her  surcharged  nature  had  had 
free  vent,  and  the  skies  were  cleared  by  the  morning's 
storm,  she  felt  far  gentler,  happier.  Her  cry  had  done 
her  good.  Her  hopefulness  was  returning — but  not 
the  messenger.  What  could  detain  him  ?  Where  could 
he  be  ?  It  was  eleven,  and  long  after,  when  at  last 
she  sighted  a  shadowy  horseman  loping  across  the 
moonlit  plain,  and  slowly  he  dismounted  at  her  gate 
and  came  to  her — empty-handed.  He  was  a  soldier  of 
Vane's  troop,  and  his  tale  was  doleful.  He  had  been 
set  upon  in  a  saloon,  robbed,  and  beaten.  The  money 
was  gone,  he  had  brought  back  nothing  but  bruises. 
As  consolation  he  imparted  the  fact  that  'twas  too 
late  to  get  the  doll  and  carriage.  The  last  ones  had 
been  sold  that  evening,  as  she  had  not  come  to  claim 
them.  Then  he  had  stepped  in  to  take  a  drink,  be- 
cause he  was  cold,  and  then  the  catastrophe  had  oc- 
curred. True  or  false  as  might  be  the  story,  there  was 
no  doubt  of  the  veracity  of  that  portion  which  referred 
to  the  drink.  Conscious  that  it  was  too  late  to  do 
anything  at  this  hour,  she  simply  dismissed  him,  bid- 


204  CAPTAIX  SANTA  CLAUS. 

ding  him  go  at  once  to  the  post,  barred  and  locked 
her  door,  and  sat  down,  stunned  and  heartsick.  This, 
then,  was  the  joyous  Christmas  for  which  she  had 
worked  so  long  and  hard !  She  raised  her  arms  in 
one  last  appeal  to  Heaven;  then  threw  herself  upon 
her  knees  beside  her  little  ones,  and  buried  her  face 
in  her  quivering  hands.  What  would  their  early  wak- 
ing bring  to  them  now  but  disappointment  ?  For  half 
an  hour  she  knelt  there  helpless,  stunned.  Then  lifted 
her  head — -startled. 

Somebody  was  fumbling  at  the  storm-door.  With 
her  heart  in  her  throat,  she  listened,  incredulous,  fear- 
ful, then  convinced.  The  boards  creaked  and  snapped 
beneath  a  heavy,  stealthy  tread.  She  heard,  beyond 
doubt,  a  muttered  question,  a  reply.  There  were  two  of 
them,  then  !  All  was  darkness  in  her  parlor  now,  only 
the  light  burned  in  the  children's  room.  Her  heart 
bounded,  but  she  stole,  despite  trembling  knees,  noise- 
lessly into  the  parlor,  stooped  and  peered  through  the 
slats,  and,  sure  as  fate,  two  men,  burly,  muffled  so  that 
they  were  unrecognizable,  were  bending  down  at  the 
storm-house  in  front  of  her  parlor  door.  Quickly  she 
rose,  scurried  through  the  parlor,  up  the  stairs  to  the 
room  above  the  kitchen,  where  she  rapped  heavily 
at  the  door.  "  Malloy  !  Malloy  !"  she  cried.  No  an- 
swer but  a  snore  and  heavy  breathing.  She  rattled 
the  knob  and  called  again.  This  time  with  success. 

"Who  is't?"  was  the  startled  challenge. 

"  It  is  I — Mrs.  Carleton  !  Quick,  Malloy !  Two  men 
are  trying  to  break  in  at  the  front  door." 

She  heard  the  bound  with  which  the  old  soldier 


CAPTAIN  SANTA  CLAUS.  205 

leaped  to  the  floor.  She  ran  into  the  front  room.  One 
quick  glance  showed  her  Ransom's  signal-light  blazing 
across  the  mile  of  snow.  One  moment  more,  and, 
muffled  in  red  silk,  her  biggest  lantern  swung  glowing 
in  the  window.  Then  down  the  stairs  she  hurried  to 
her  children,  just  as  Malloy,  with  his  carbine,  and 
Bridget,  with  a  six-shooter,  swept  gallantly  into  ac- 
tion. She  heard  his  fierce  summons,  "  Who  shtands 
there  ?"  and  listened  breathlessly.  No  response. 
"  Who's  dhere,  I  say  ?"  Dead  silence.  Not  even 
scurrying  footsteps.  She  crept  to  the  window  and 
peered  out.  No  one  near.  She  raised  the  sash,  threw 
open  a  shutter,  and  gazed  abroad.  The  little  piazza 
was  deserted,  unless  both  were  hiding  inside  the  storm- 
house.  No  !  See  !  Over  among  the  willows  by  the 
stream  there  are  shadowy  figures  and  a  sleigh. 

"  They've  gone,  Malloy  !  They  are  up  the  river- 
bank  with  a  sleigh  !"  she  called.  And  then  she  heard 
him  furiously  unbarring  the  parlor  door  preparatory 
to  a  rush.  She  heard  it  swing  open,  an  impetuous 
sally,  a  collision,  a  crash,  the  clatter  of  a  dropped 
carbine  against  the  surrounding  wood-work,  a  com- 
plication of  anathemas  and  objurgations  from  the 
dark  interior,  and  then  a  dialogue  in  choice  Hiber- 
nian. 

"Are  ye  hurted,  Terence?" 

"  I  am.  Bad  scran  to  the  blagyards  that  left  their 
thrunk  behind  'em !" 

Trunk  !  what  trunk  ?  She  bore  a  light  into  the  par- 
lor, and  revealed  Malloy,  with  rueful  visage,  doubled 
up  over  a  big  wooden  box  planted  squarely  in  the 


206  CAPTAIN    SANTA    CLAUS. 

doorway.  Robbers,  indeed !  Mrs.  Bridget  whisked 
him  out  of  the  way,  ran  and  closed  the  children's 
door,  and  in  another  moment  had  lugged  the  big  box 
into  the  parlor,  and  wrenched  away  the  top.  The  two 
women  were  on  their  knees  before  it  in  an  instant. 

First  they  dragged  forth  a  great  flat  paper  box, 
damp  and  cool  and  moist,  and  this  the  widow  opened 
tremblingly.  A  flat  layer  of  white  cotton,  dry;  then 
paper ;  a  flat  layer  of  white  cotton,  moist ;  and  then, 
peep  !  Upon  the  fresh,  green  coils  of  smilax,  rich  with 
fragrance,  sweet,  moist,  dewy,  exquisite,  lay  store  upon 
store  of  the  choicest  flowers — rose-buds  and  rose-blos- 
soms in  cream  and  yellow  and  pink  and  crimson,  car- 
nations in  white  and  red,  heliotrope  and  hyacinth,  and 
fairest  pansies,  and  modest  little  violets,  and  gorgeous 
tulips,  even  great  callas — the  first  flowers  she  had  seen 
in  years.  Oh,  Captain  Santa  Glaus  !  who  taught  you 
Christmas  wooing  ?  Where  learned  you  such  art  as 
this  ?  Beneath  the  box  was  yet  another,  bearing  the 
stamp  of  the  great  Chicago  firm,  sealed,  corded,  just 
as  he  had  got  it  from  the  agent  that  evening — Phil's 
longed-for  suit.  She  hugged  it  with  delight,  while 
tears  started  to  her  dancing  eyes.  How  good  he  was  ! 
How  thoughtful  for  her  and  for  her  little  ones  !  There, 
beneath,  was  the  very  white  doll-carriage,  blue  lining, 
umbrella  top,  and  all,  wherein  reposed  a  wondrous 
wax  doll,  the  like  of  which  Maud  had  never  dreamed. 
There  was  a  tin  kitchen,  with  innumerable  appendages. 
There  was  a  glistening  pair  of  club-skates  of  finest 
steel  and  latest  patent,  the  very  thing  that  Phil  so 
longed  for,  and  had  so  lovingly  resigned.  There  were 


ONE   MOMENT   MORE,   AND,   MUFFLED  IN  RED  SILK,  HER  BIG- 
GEST LANTERN   SWUNG   GLOWING   IN   THE  WINDOW." 


CAPTAIN  SANTA  CLAUS.  207 

fur  cap  and  gloves  and  boots  for  him,  and  such  an  ele- 
gant shawl  for  Mrs.  Malloy  !  He  could  send  them  all 
he  chose,  and  no  offence.  But  to  her — on  her  he  could 
lavish  only  flowers. 

And  then  her  Irish  allies  returned  to  their  slumbers, 
and  left  her  to  the  rapture  of  arranging  the  new  pres- 
ents and  the  contemplation  of  her  flowers;  and  she 
was  hugging  the  big  pasteboard  box  and  gloating  over 
her  treasures  when  there  was  sudden  noise  without, 
a  rush  up  the  steps,  and  before  she  could  drop  her 
possessions  the  door  flew  open,  and  in  came  a  wild- 
eyed,  breathless  captain  of  cavalry,  gasping  the  ap- 
parently unwarrantable  query,  "What's  the  matter?" 

For  an  instant  she  stared  at  him  in  astonishment. 
Holding  tight  her  flowers,  she  gazed  at  his  agitated 
face.  "  Nothing,"  she  answered.  "  How  could  any- 
thing be  wrong  when  you  have  been  so — so — "  But 
words  failed  her. 

"  Why  !  your  red  light's  burning"  he  explained. 

"  I  declare !     I  forgot  all  about  it !" 

Then  another  silence.  He  threw  himself  back  in  an 
arm-chair,  breathing  hard,  and  trying  to  recover  his 
composure. 

"Do  you  mean  —  didn't  you  mean  to  signal  for 
help  ?"  he  finally  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  did  " — an  arch  and  mischievous  smile  now 
brightening  her  face.  "  When  I  swung  it  I  wanted 
you  to  come  quick  and  drive — yourself  away." 

Then  she  put  down  her  box,  and  stepped  impul- 
sively towards  him,  two  white  hands  outstretched, 
tears  starting  from  her  eyes,  the  color  surging  to  her 


208  CAPTAIN  SANTA  CLAUS. 

lovely  face — "  Where  can  I  find  words  to  thank  you, 
Captain  Santa  Glaus?" 

He  rose  quickly,  his  face  flushed  and  eager,  his  strong 
hands  trembling. 

"Shall  I  tell  you?"  he  asked. 

Her  head  was  drooping  now ;  her  eyes  could  not 
meet  the  fervent  love  and  longing  in  his;  her  bosom 
heaved  with  every  breath.  She  could  only  stand  and 
tremble  when  he  seized  her  hands. 

"Kate,  will  you  take  back  what  you  said  to-day?" 

She  stole  one  glance  into  his  passionate,  pleading 
eyes,  and  her  head  drooped  lower. 

"  Can't  you  take  it  back,  Kate  ?" 

A  moment's  pause.  At  last  the  answer.  "How 
can  I,  unless — unless  you  take  back  what  you — what 
caused  it?" 

Never  before  had  the  little  Carletons  wTaked  to  such 
a  radiant  Christmas  morning.  Never  had  the  Forties 
known  so  royal  a  Christmas-tree.  Never  before  was 
"Uncle  Hal's"  so  thronged  with  beaming  faces  and 
happy  hearts.  But  among  all  the  little  ones  whom 
his  love  and  thoughtfulness  had  blessed  there  was  no 
face  that  shone  with  bliss  more  radiant,  with  joy  more 
deep  and  perfect,  than  that  of  Captain  Santa  Claus. 


I 


CAPTAIN  SANTA   CLAUS." 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  'MAHBIN  MILL. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PLACID  and  homelike  enough  were  all  its  surround- 
ings, one  would  say.  It  seemed  the  very  last  place 
to  look  for  romance  or  mystery — the  very  last  place 
in  the  world  to  be  confronted  by  a  foul  and  savage 
crime.  There  was  not  a  shadow  on  the  bright,  breeze- 
ruffled  mill-pond  whereon  the  ducks  were  splashing 
and  quacking  noisily.  Not  a  willow  drooped  its 
mourning  branches  over  the  sunny  shallows  above, 
or  the  foaming,  rushing,  tumbling  torrent  below  the 
dam.  Not  a  tree  with  heavy,  spreading  foliage  stood 
guard  between  the  sunshine  and  the  shores.  Nothing 
but  a  few  pert,  sturdy  young  hickories  fringed  the 
banks,  bolt  upright  in  the  broad  glare  of  the  noon- 
tide, and  proclaiming  in  their  very  attitude  their  de- 
testation of  all  that  was  vague,  dark,  or  shadowy. 
There  were  no  beetling  cliffs — no  firs,  no  pines,  no 
dark  hemlocks — nothing  in  the  least  suggestive  of 
gloom  or  tragedy.  The  valley  lay  broad  and  open. 
Cosy  homesteads  and  cottages  gleamed  here  and  there 
along  the  slopes,  nestled  in  little  groves  of  their  own. 
Orchards,  a  vineyard,  many  fields  of  waving,  yellow- 
ing grain,  broad  pastures  dotted  with  drowsy  sheep 
and  drowsier,  clover-fed  cattle  ;  bright  green  patches 
every  now  and  then  where  the  sugar-maples  huddled 


212  THE  MYSTEEY  OF 

together  in  rustling  gossip  ;  and  smiling  farms  and 
winding,  well-kept  country  roads  lay  north  and  south. 
Westward,  a  few  hundred  yards,  the  gleaming  bosom 
of  the  island-dotted  lake  into  which  the  mill-stream 
poured  its  swirling  waters  ;  eastward,  a  short  mile, 
the  roofs  and  chimneys  of  the  thriving  county  town  ; 
and  then,  over  towards  the  distant  railway,  a  creamy 
spire,  with  the  sacred  emblem  of  the  cross  glinting 
and  shimmering  in  the  sunlight,  peeped  through  the 
fringe  of  waving  tree-tops.  All  was  quiet,  rural  beauty. 
All  told  of  peace,  life,  contentment,  and  prosperity 
this  lovely  July  morning  of  the  centennial  year — all 
save  the  hush  and  awe  that  hung  about  old  'Mahbiri  mill. 
Over  by  the  waste  weir,  with  musical  splash  and 
laughter  and  faint  little  clouds  of  spray,  a  tumbling 
sheet  of  water  was  disappearing  into  the  cool  depths 
below;  but  here,  in  the  broad,  beaten  roadway  around 
the  worn  threshold,  was  impressive  silence.  The  busy 
whir  and  hum  and  clatter  was  all  stilled,  though  else- 
where this  had  been  a  bustling  Monday  morn.  Men 
spoke  in  low,  awe-stricken  whispers,  and  went  on  tip- 
toe over  the  creaking  floor  within.  Peace  and  con- 
tentment, life  and  prosperity,  flooding  sunshine,  laugh- 
ing-water, merry-throated  birds  made  glad  the  scene 
around ;  but  within  was  silence  and  mystery  and 
death.  Here,  prone  on  the  flour-dusted  floor  of  the 
old  office  lay  all  that  was  mortal  of  gray-haired  Sam 
Morrow,  the  miller,  murdered  by  murder  most  foul, 
as  one  and  all  could  see ;  and  young  Dick  Graham, 
his  right-hand  man  for  years,  had  gone,  gone  no  one 
knew  whither. 


THE    MYSTERY    OF    'MAHBIN    MILL.  213 

In  all  its  peaceful  history,  Nemahbin  had  known  no 
such  sight  or  sensation  as  this.  Thirty  years  had  the 
old  mill  been  the  rallying-point  of  the  farmers,  to  the 
exclusion  of  the  attractions  of  the  tavern  in  the  little 
town.  Morrow  was  a  character — a  man  who  read  and 
remembered,  a  man  who  took  the  papers  and  had  an 
opinion,  backed  by  good  reasoning,  of  public  men  and 
public  affairs  of  the  day.  He  grew  to  be  an  authority 
on  many  and  most  subjects,  but  he  never  grew  to  be 
popular.  Morrow  had  an  ugly  temper  when  crossed, 
a  lashing,  venomous  tongue  when  angered,  and,  of 
late,  there  had  been  growing  up  among  the  farmers 
who  drove  thither  with  their  grain  a  suspicion  that 
old  Sam,  in  his  grasping,  money-loving  greed  had  be- 
come unscrupulous.  In  this  there  was  rank  injustice. 
Crabbed  and  ill-tempered  as  the  man  had  often  been, 
surly  and  rough  of  speech  as  he  had  become,  there 
did  not  live  a  more  rigidly  honest  man — his  word  was 
his  bond.  His  own  dealings  were  beyond  question, 
and  six  months  before  his  death  no  man  within  a  thirty- 
mile  radius  of  Nemahbin  had  ever  been  heard  to  hint 
at  such  a  thing  as  sharp  practice  at  'Mahbin  mill. 

He  had  not  been  a  happy  man.  His  home  life  had 
been  far  from  sweet  and  peaceful.  Ten  years  ago  his 
patient  and  devoted  wife  had  died — worn  out,  some 
neighbors  were  good  enough  to  say,  by  his  outbreaks 
of  fury  and  his  cutting  injustice.  But  he  had  loved 
her,  loved  her  well,  and  he  mourned  her  bitterly.  Two 
children  she  had  left  him  :  one  a  son,  high-spirited, 
impulsive,  and  wilful,  between  whom  and  his  father 
there  waged  incessant  feud  while  he  was  at  home,  and 


214 

between  whom  and  that  same  father  there  passed  fre- 
quent letters  of  most  loving  description  when  the  boy 
was  placed  at  boarding-school.  Young  Sam  had  been 
liberally  provided  for  when  he  went  away,  and  his 
pocket-money  was  unstinted.  The  boy  was  not  vicious, 
but  the  restraints  of  school  discipline  seemed  to  tempt 
him  from  one  mad  exploit  to  another,  and,  after  two 
years  of  sorely  tried  patience,  the  authorities  of  the 
school  requested  his  withdrawal.  Sam  was  fifteen 
then,  a  bright,  quick-witted  fellow,  a  leader  in  all  boy- 
ish sports  and  mischief,  and  immensely  popular  among 
the  farm  folk  around  Nemahbin.  His  chum  and  inti- 
mate friend  from  early  boyhood  had  been  Dick  Gra- 
ham ;  like  himself,  an  only  son  of  an  idolizing  mother, 
but,  unlike  himself,  compelled  to  labor  for  her  sup- 
port. When  young  Sam  had  been  sent  away  to  school 
after  his  mother's  death,  the  old  man  was  noticed  on 
several  consecutive  days  hovering  uncertainly  about 
the  little  country  store  where  his  boy's  friend  was 
working  from  morn  till  night  doing  hard  jobs  and 
thankfully  carrying  home  his  scanty  wages  at  the  end- 
of  the  week.  One  day  he  blustered  in  on  the  "boss" 
with  brief  ceremony : 

"Murphy,"  said  he,  "you  work  that  boy  too  hard, 
and  pay  him  too  little.  If  you  don't  double  his  wages, 
I  will,  and  take  him  out  to  the  mill  to  boot."  Murphy 
was  vastly  angered  at  the  proceeding,  and  Murphy's 
adherents  voted  around  the  fire  that  night  that  old 
Sam  Morrow  had  no  business  to  be  "  spilin'  the  market 
for  boys,"  and  undermining  other  folk's  concerns  in 
that  way  ;  but  the  miller  stuck  to  his  word  ;  Murphy 


THE    MYSTERY    OF    'MAHBIN    MILL.  215 

would  not  agree,  and  at  the  end  of  the  month  Dick 
Graham  moved  out  to  the  mill,  where  his  bright  face, 
and  cheery,  alert  ways,  soon  deepened  the  interest  old 
Sam  felt  in  him  for  his  own  boy's  sake.  Then  he 
moved  Mrs.  Graham  out  there,  and  placed  her  and 
her  boy  in  the  cottage  near  the  mill-house,  as  his  own 
home  was  termed.  And  then  the  minister  of  the 
pretty  church  over  towards  the  railway  had  come  over 
to  call  on  Mr.  Morrow — who  was  not  of  the  fold — and 
to  shake  hands  with  him,  and  when  he  went  away  he 
bent  down  and  kissed  pretty  little  Nellie — the  miller's 
only  daughter,  and  his  darling — and  had  asked  that  his 
own  little  girls  might  come  over  to  make  her  acquaint- 
ance and  to  gather  pond  lilies.  All  this  had  happened 
ten  years  back,  when  Nellie  was  a  blue-eyed,  sunny- 
haired  child,  and  Sam  was  in  his  first  turbulent  year 
at  school. 

Little  Nell  had  to  go  to  her  own  school  very  soon. 
It  lay  across  country  over  where  the  minister  lived, 
and  many  was  the  time  in  the  rough  spring  weather 
when  Dick  Graham  had  to  carry  her  over  the  rushing 
brooks  that  burst  across  the  roadway  from  the  deep- 
drifted  slopes  of  snow.  He  was  a  splendid,  sturdy 
boy  of  fifteen  then — manly,  truthful,  independent ; 
and  loyally  he  strove  to  serve  his  benefactor  in  the 
clattering  old  mill,  and  still  more  loyally  he  watched 
over  the  bonny  child  who  seemed  that  master's  all 
in  all. 

Things  went  smoothly  enough,  in  all  conscience,  a 
year  or  two.  Dick  trudged  off  to  evening  school 
during  the  wintry  season,  and  had  found  a  good  friend 


216  THE    MYSTERY    OF    'MAHBIN    MILL. 

in  that  same  minister,  who  lent  him  books  and  helped 
him  along  in  his  studies ;  but  then  Sam  came  home, 
virtually  expelled  from  school,  and  then  began  a  se- 
ries of  domestic  troubles  between  father  and  son  that 
brought  sorrow  and  anxiety  to  all.  Old  Sam  in  his 
wrath  would  taunt  the  boy  with  having  disgraced  him, 
and  young  Sam  in  his  flush  of  temper  would  threaten 
to  quit  his  father's  home  for  good  and  all.  Dick 
strove  to  reason  with  his  friend,  but  the  boy  was  sen- 
sitive and  stung  to  the  quick.  A  kind  word,  a  loving 
touch  from  his  father  would  have  melted"  his  heart  in 
an  instant.  He  would  have  gone  back  to  school  full 
of  apology  and  promises  to  amend  ;  but  his  father's 
eyes  were  averted  and  his  tongue  edged  with  fire. 
Sam  swore  it  was  of  no  use  to  try  and  be  patient. 
Then  Dick  went  to  the  minister  in  his  perplexity,  and 
that  worthy  gentleman  came  strolling  over  to  the 
mill,  and  looking  over  the  ground,  so  to  speak.  His 
was  a  diplomatic  mind,  and  it  had  reason  to  be.  It 
was  easy  to  win  the  son's  confidence.  He,  Dick,  and 
Sam  junior  soon  formed  a  trio  of  fast  friends,  and  be- 
fore long  another  scheme  was  broached  ;  and,  with 
some  surly  misgiving  on  old  Morrow's  part,  Sam  was 
sent  to  another  and  larger  school.  It  was  the  old 
man's  hobby  that  his  boy  should  be  well  educated. 
But  a  plethora  of  pocket-money,  said  the  authorities 
of  the  first  establishment,  had  been  the  cause  of  his 
downfall,  and  now  the  old  man  sternly  refused  to  give 
his  son  a  cent.  All  his  expenses  were  to  be  met  and 
paid,  and  the  principal  of  the  new  school  was  to  give 
him  a  certain  trifling  sum  on  holidays.  There  was  no 


THE    MYSTERY    OF    'MAHBIN    MILL.  217 

known  trouble  for  a  year  as  the  result  of  this  arrange- 
ment. The  boy  felt  that  he  had  amends  to  make  and 
so  did  his  best.  A  widowed  sister  of  old  Morrow  had 
come  to  his  home  and  taken  charge  of  it  and  little 
Nell,  and  there  was  another  era  of  comparative  peace. 
But  to  young  Sam  the  school  life  was  far  from 
bright.  Stinted  now  where  he  had  formerly  been 
indulged,  he  found  himself  forced  into  a  position 
greatly  contrasted  with  the  prominence  and  popular- 
ity he  had  enjoyed  among  the  youngsters  of  the  year 
before.  He  was  beginning  to  learn  the  lesson  that 
sooner  or  later  saddens  and  often  embitters  the  bright- 
est minds — the  lesson  that  even  here  in  free  America 
money  is  the  standard  of  even  personal  value.  It  was 
not  so  with  Western  boys  before  the  war.  Money  was 
a  thing  well-nigh  unknown  to  them,  but  the  "flush" 
days  brought  with  them  new  ideas,  and  the  ideas  stuck 
fast  long  after  the  flush  days  had  gone.  Sam  Morrow 
found  that  he  was  no  longer  the  pet  of  the  "best  set." 
Money  and  reckless  good-nature  had  won  it  for  him 
in  the  old  school ;  good-nature  unbacked  by  money 
was  no  help  here  at  the  new.  Sam  said  nothing  to 
his  father,  but  his  letters  to  Dick  became  more  fre- 
quent. He  stood  to  his  work  like  a  little  man,  and 
despite  the  sorrow  and  loneliness  of  that  year  he  carne 
home  the  better  for  it  all.  He  had  made  excellent 
progress.  His  teacher  had  praised  him  ;  the  minister 
put  him  through  his  paces  and  extolled  him  ;  and  old 
Morrow,  proud  and  pleased,  wanted  to  unbend  and 
send  the  boy  back  for  his  second  year  with  some  sub- 
stantial token  of  his  pleasure ;  but  stubborn  pride  oil 


218  THE    MYSTEKY    OP    'MAHBIN    MILL. 

both  sides  seemed  to  stand  between  father  and  son. 
Sam  junior  would  ask  nothing,  and  the  old  man's  re- 
ply to  the  minister's  well-meant  suggestion  was,  "Well, 
if  the  boy  wants  money  now  let  him  come  and  say  so." 
And  this  Sam  swore  he  would  not  do,  and  so  it  ended. 
Next  year  there  was  a  catastrophe.  Sam  was  now 
a  stalwart,  handsome  young  fellow  of  seventeen. 
"  Ready  to  go  to  college,"  said  his  teachers.  One 
day  old  Morrow  received  a  telegraphic  despatch  beg- 
ging him  to  come  at  once  to  the  school.  He  went, 
and  in  four  days  was  home  again  with  Sam  and  a 
broken  heart.  Small  sums  of  money  had  been  missed 
from  time  to  time  by  various  pupils  of  the  school. 
Suspicion  had  fastened  on  a  sharp  boy  who  was  be- 
lieved to  spend  more  money  than  he  legitimately  re- 
ceived. A  watch  was  kept,  a  search  was  made,  and 
Sam  Morrow  was  detected  passing  at  a  store  some  of 
the  marked  money.  Questioned  as  to  where  he  got 
it,  he  for  the  time  declined  to  answer,  until  told  that 
he  was  suspected  of  the  theft.  He  then  confessed 
that  it  was  part  of  a  small  sum  Fielding,  the  sharp 
boy  aforementioned,  paid  him  from  time  to  time  for 
translating  his  Caesar  for  him.  Fielding  promptly, 
and  with  much  apparent  indignation,  denied  the  story. 
Receiving  such  assistance  and  passing  off  another 
boy's  work  as  his  own  was  an  offence  for  which  a 
pupil  was  always  severely  punished.  The  case  rested 
as  a  question  of  veracity  between  the  two  boys,  with 
the  odds  vastly  in  favor  of  Sam — for  a  few  hours  only, 
pending  further  investigation,  but  that  investiga- 
tion was  fatal.  At  least  twelve  dollars  of  the  missing 


THE    MYSTERY    OF    'MAHBIN    MILL.  219 

money  was  found  secreted  in  Sam's  books  and  cloth- 
ing. He  had  furiously  denied  everything  ;  he  pro- 
tested in  vain  that  he  had  no  idea  how  it  came  there, 
but  his  lonely,  solitary  ways  were  remembered,  his 
habits  of  hanging  about  the  dormitories  apparently 
at  stud}7  when  the  boys  were  at  play — and  there  was 
no  one  to  stand  up  for  him.  Old  Morrow  came,  lis- 
tened in  crushed  silence,  and  took  his  boy  home.  Honest 
to  the  backbone  himself,  he  was  sore  stricken  to  think 
that  his  son  should  steal.  He  had  heard  first  the  stories 
of  the  teachers  and  pupils  before  being  ushered  into 
the  presence  of  the  accused.  All  hot  impulse  and  fury, 
he  had  come  upon  his  lonely  and  friendless  son,  and 
when  the  poor  fellow,  bursting  into  tears  in  his  misery 
and  excitement  of  the  moment,  had  thrown  his  arms 
about  his  father's  neck,  sobbing,  "  I  have  not  done  it, 
I  am  innocent,"  he  had  sternly  unclasped  the  pleading 
hands  and  ordered  him  to  prepare  at  once  to  go  home 
with  him.  Sam  seemed  utterly  stunned  by  his  father's 
refusal  to  hear  a  word.  He  was  almost  crazed  with 
misery  when  he  reached  home.  The  minister  and 
Dick  listened  to  his  story  and  believed  it.  Old  Sam 
shut  himself  up;  refused  to  see  any  one  for  some  days, 
until  Nellie's  tears  and  petitions  secured  a  brief  inter- 
view for  the  worthy  churchman.  This  time  the  latter 
was  not  diplomatic.  He  believed  the  boy  wronged 
from  beginning  to  end.  He  told  old  Morrow  in  so 
many  words  that  his  pride  and  stubbornness  were 
sin  and  shame,  and  roused  the  old  man  to  such  a  pitch 
of  wrath  that  he  shrieked  out  his  hope  that  the  son 
who  had  disgraced  him  might  never  come  before  his 


220  THE    MYSTEEY    OF 

sight  again — and  be  never  did.  Sam  Morrow  heard 
the  furious  words.  Pride  came  to  his  aid;  and  never 
saying  a  word  of  farewell  to  the  friends  whom  he 
knew  would  strive  to  dissuade  him,  but  clinging  long 
to  sweet  twelve-year-old  Nellie,  and  sobbing  as  though 
his  heart  would  break,  Sam  left  his  father's  roof  that 
night.  Five  years  had  passed  away,  and  not  one  word 
was  ever  heard  from  him.  The  old  man's  curse  had 
indeed  come  home  to  rest ;  his  fading  eyes  were  never 
more  to  be  blessed  by  the  sight  of  his  son. 

But  this  was  only  half  of  his  misery.  The  minister 
left  the  house  with  his  blood  up ;  went  forthwith  to 
that  school  and  was  closeted  some  hours  with  his  old 
friend  the  principal.  Sam's  side  of  the  story  had  an 
intelligent  advocate  ;  a  revulsion  of  feeling  had  set  in; 
boys  and  men  both  began  to  recall  good  points  about 
Morrow  that  had  not  occurred  to  them  before,  and 
queer  things  about  that  fellow  Fielding.  In  less  than 
a  month  after  Sam's  disappearance  there  came  a  letter 
to  old  Morrow  one  day  which  he  read  in  gasping 
amaze,  and  then  fell  prone  and  senseless  on  the  floor 
of  the  very  office  where  he  lay  now  prone  and  dead. 
Sam's  story  was  true  ;  Fielding  had  confessed  even  to 
having  stolen  the  money  and  hiding  portions  of  it  in 
Sam's  property,  to  divert  suspicion  from  himself. 

But  now  came  a  long  illness  in  which  old  Morrow 
lay  at  death's  door.  He  raved  for  his  boy.  He  cursed 
his  own  mad  folly  and  injustice.  He  did  everything 
that  could  be  suggested  to  bring  the  wanderer  home 
again.  The  story  went  into  the  papers.  Advertise- 
ments were  circulated  through  the  Western  States. 


THE    MYSTERY    OF    ?MAHBIN    MILL.  221 

Even  detectives  were  called  upon,  but  to  no  purpose. 
Sam  never  returned.  The  old  man,  bent  and  sorrow- 
ing, but  with  as  fiery  a  temper  and  an  even  more  en- 
venomed tongue,  seemed  to  live  only  for  Nellie's  sake 
and  the  hope  of  once  more  greeting  his  boy.  Nellie 
herself  had  spent  some  years  at  boarding-school  and 
had  grown  into  a  lovely  girl  of  eighteen.  Dick  Gra- 
ham was  a  fine,  manly  fellow,  good  to  look  at  and 
better  to  trust  and  tie  to.  "  Too  good  a  man  to  stay 
grubbing  for  old  Morrow  at  the  mill,"  said  the  neigh- 
bors. "  Far  too  valuable  and  intelligent  for  the  hum- 
ble stipend  that  is  paid  him,"  said  the  minister.  "  Old 
Morrow  "  had  grown  miserly  and  grasping,  said  Public 
Opinion — and  it  was  true.  He  had  no  confidant ;  he 
had  no  friends  to  whom  he  could  open  his  heart.  In 
dumb  sorrow  he  shrank  from  the  world,  ever  looking 
with  haggard  eyes  for  some  trace  of  the  lost  boy 
whom  his  injustice  and  cruelty  had  driven  into  exile. 
Nellie  was  his  one  comfort.  He  gloried  in  her  bud- 
ding beauty,  but  he  meant  to  make  a  lady  of  her,  and 
even  during  her  school  vacation  she  did  not  always 
come  home.  It  was  too  lonely  and  sad  a  spot  for  one 
so  bright  as  she,  said  the  old  man,  and  he  willingly 
permitted  her  to  visit  school  friends  in  their  city 
homes,  and  went  month  after  month  to  see  her — and 
bear  to  her,  and  the  friends  she  liked,  huge  and  un- 
couth offerings  of  candy  or  flowers  in  his  efforts  to 
show  his  appreciation  of  their  interest  in  his  precious 
child.  Nellie  was  a  princess  in  his  eyes,  but  others 
saw  in  her  a  somewhat  spoiled  and  over-petted  beauty. 
That  is — some  others — most  others.  There  was  one 


222  THE    MYSTERY    OF 

who  worshipped  her  as  even  her  father  never  dreamed 
of  doing ;  one  to  whom  her  faintest  wish  was  law  ; 
one  to  whom  her  lightest  word  was  sacred,  and  to 
whom  her  smile,  or  the  touch  of  her  little  hand  meant 
heaven.  People  wondered  how  Dick  Graham  could 
consent  to  hang  on  there  at  'Mahbin  mill,  "grubbing" 
for  that  grasping  old  Morrow  like  a  slave.  Poor 
Dick  !  Slave  he  was,  as  many  another  had  been,  but 
not  the  miller's.  He  could  and  would  have  broken 
with  him  three  years  before,  when  the  death  of  his 
invalid  mother  left  the  young  fellow  independent  of 
all  claim — but  he  could  not  and  would  not  break  the 
tie  that  bound  him  to  'Mahbin  and  the  dusty,  dingy, 
red-shingled  old  mill.  He  idolized  Nellie  Morrow, 
and  she  held  his  life  in  her  hands. 

She  had  learned  to  be  very  fond  of  Dick  in  the  year 
that  followed  her  brother's  disappearance.  She  had 
grown  into  his  heart  the  year  before  she  went  to 
school,  and  when  she  came  home  from  her  first  vaca- 
tion, child  though  she  was,  she  knew  it  and  gloried  in 
it.  Each  year  added  to  her  maidenly  graces,  and  to 
his  thraldom,  and  the  very  winter  that  preceded  this 
centennial  summer  Dick  had  brought  her  home  from 
a  sleigh  ing-party  one  night  fairly  wild  with  joy  and 
pride.  In  answer  to  his  impetuous  and  trembling 
words  she  had  murmured  to  him  that  he  was  dearer 
to  her  than  anybody  else  could  be,  and  he  believed  it, 
though  Miss  Nellie  had  grave  doubts  in  her  own  mind 
as  to  the  truth  of  that  statement  even  when  she  made 
it.  Still,  it  was  very  nice  to  have  the  best-looking 
and  smartest  young  man  in  and  around  'Mahbin  for 


223 

her  own,  when  she  was  home,  but  he  was  not  quite 
to  be  compared  with  the  exquisites  she  saw  in  the 
city  streets,  or  the  brothers  of  some  of  her  school 
friends.  And  there  was  one — oh !  so  romantic  a  fel- 
low !  whom  she  met  that  very  winter  in  Chicago  when 
spending  Thanksgiving  holidays  with  a  schoolmate  ; 
a  dark-eyed,  splendid-looking  man,  tall,  straight,  ath- 
letic, with  bronzed  features  and  such  a  strange  his- 
tory !  He  was  much  older  than  these  school-girls.  He 
must  have  been  thirty  or  thereabouts,  and  was  own 
cousin  to  her  friend.  He  had  been  a  soldier  when 
very  young  ;  had  run  away  from  home  and  fought 
in  the  great  war,  and  had  been  a  wanderer  almost  ever 
since  ;  had  been  to  California  and  to  sea,  and — they 
did  not  really  know  where  else.  Nellie  was  too  young 
to  notice  that  he  had  not  been  cordially  welcomed 
by  the  old  people  on  his  arrival  at  the  home  of  her 
friend.  He  had  been  wild  and  reckless,  had  "  Cousin 
Harry,"  and  papa  did  not  like  him,  was  the  explana- 
tion of  subsequent  coldness  she  could  not  help  seeing. 
But  to  the  girls  he  was  perfect.  He  had  so  mournful, 
mysterious,  pathetic  a  manner.  He  was  trying  so 
hard  to  find  some  steady  employment — was  so  eager 
to  settle  down — and  he  soon  became  so  interested  in 
Nellie,  so  devoted  to  her  in  fact,  and  the  very  day 
they  returned  to  school — how  it  came  about  she  never 
knew  exactly,  his  sympathetic  manner  did  it,  perhaps, 
— she  told  him  about  her  brother  and  his  utter  disap- 
pearance, and  then  she  wondered  at  the  sudden  eager 
light  in  his  eyes,  the  color  that  shot  into  his  face 
through  bronze  and  all,  and  the  unmistakable  agita- 


224  THE    MYSTERY    OF 

tion  with  which  he  had  asked  the  question,  "  What 
was  his  name  ?"  For  an  instant  she  believed  he  must 
have  met  Sam  and  known  him,  but  this  he  denied, 
denied  even  when  he  asked  to  see  his  photograph. 

Then  "Cousin  Harry"  had  been  searching  in  his 
questions  about  Nellie,  her  father,  his  age,  his  prop- 
erty, her  prospects.  It  was  easy  enough  to  extract 
all  manner  of  information  from  her  school-girl  friend, 
and,  when  Nellie  went  back  to  school,  she  had  reason 
to  believe  there  was  something  very  real  in  Mr.  Henry 
Frost's  decided  interest  in  her. 

She  knew  Dick  loved  her.  She  had  given  him  every 
reason  to  hope  that  she  was  growing  to  care  for  him ; 
yet  before  the  Christmas  holidays  she  twice  had  more 
reason  to  remember  Harry  Frost's  devoted  manner — 
and  when  she  started  home  for  those  very  holidays 
he  was  on  the  train. 

It  was  Christmas  eve  that  sent  Dick  Graham  home 
happier  than  he  had  ever  been  in  his  life,  but  in  one 
short-  week  the  happiness  had  fled.  Mr.  Frost  had 
taken  up  his  abode  at  the  little  tavern  in  the  village ; 
had  acquired  some  strange  influence  over  old  Morrow, 
and  was  playing  the  devoted  to  Nellie  in  a  way  she 
too  plainly  liked.  Early  in  January  she  went  back 
to  school,  but  Frost  remained.  He  had  indeed  gained 
a  powerful  influence  over  the  lonely  old  man — no  one 
knew  how — for  Morrow  invited  the  stranger  to  his 
house  to  stay  awhile,  and,  before  January  was  over, 
the  tall,  dark-eyed,  dark-haired,  athetic  man  was  oc- 
cupying a  desk  in  the  office  of  the  old  mill. 

There  was  great   speculation  and  conjecture  and 


THE    MYSTERY    OF    'MAIIBIN   MILL.  225 

gossip  all  around  'Mahbin  over  this  matter.  The  mill 
had  been  doing  rather  less  business  than  usual;  no  ad- 
ditional men  were  needed.  The  office  required  little 
attention,  for  old  Morrow  had  kept  his  own  books  and 
done  his  own  letter- writing  for  years.  If  a  clerk  were 
needed,  why  take  in  a  stranger  whom  nobody  knew, 
they  urged,  when  there  was  young  Graham,  whom 
everybody  liked  and  trusted  ?  And  yet,  before  spring 
had  fairly  set  in,  old  Morrow  had  turned  over  his  book- 
keeping and  writing  to  this  Mr.  Frost;  and  though  the 
key  of  the  little  safe  was  never  intrusted  to  any  hand 
but  that  of  the  master,  and  though  there  was  one  desk 
no  one  but  Morrow  himself  could  open,  Frost  was  soon 
as  much  at  home  in  the  mill  as  though  he  had  lived 
there  a  lifetime. 

When  the  brief  Easter  holiday  came  an  odd  thing 
happened.  Nellie  Morrow  declined  to  go  with  any  of 
her  school-friends.  She  wrote  that  she  wanted  to  see 
dear  old  'Mahbin  again,  and  delightedly  the  miller 
brought  her  home.  It  was  a  week  of  torment  to  poor 
Dick  Graham;  a  holiday  that  proved  far  from  satis- 
factory to  Morrow,  for  he  saw  with  sudden  start  that 
his  bonny  Nell  was  becoming  vastly  interested  in  Mr. 
Frost,  whom  he  was  beginning  to  distrust. 

When  Frost  had  come  to  Nemahbin,  in  December, 
he  had  sought  the  old  miller,  requested  a  confidential 
interview,  told  him,  with  all  apparent  frankness,  of  his 
meeting  with  Nellie  at  the  home  of  his  uncle,  near  Chi- 
cago, and  of  her  telling  him  the  sad  story  of  Sam's  dis- 
appearance. 

"Mr.  Morrow,"  said  he,  "I  believe  I  met  and  knew 
15 


226 

your  son  on  the  Pacific  coast.  What  is  more,  I  be- 
lieve I  can  find  him."  The  miller  knew  that  Frost's 
relations  were  people  of  high  position,  but  did  not 
know  that  the  man  before  him  was  very  far  from 
standing  well  in  their  esteem.  But  he  had  been  im- 
posed upon  more  than  once  by  people  who  sought  to 
make  money  from  his  eagerness  to  obtain  any  clue 
to  the  whereabouts  of  his  missing  boy.  He  closely 
questioned  Frost,  and  was  speedily  convinced  that 
there  was  no  imposition  here.  He  had  known  him, 
and  known  him  well ;  for,  even  in  little  tricks  of  speech 
and  manner,  Frost  could  describe  Sam  to  the  life.  The 
old  man's  first  impulse  was  to  take  Frost  with  him  and 
start  for  the  Pacific  coast  at  once;  but  the  latter  point- 
ed out  to  him  that  the  journey  to  mid  Arizona  was 
very  long  and  expensive,  and  that  he  had  reason  to 
believe  Sam  had  left  there  and  gone  with  miners  to 
Montana.  He  had  friends  and  correspondents ;  he 
would  write;  he  did  write,  and  showed  Morrow  the 
letters,  and  they  went  apparently  to  Prescott,  Arizo- 
na, but  not  for  three  months  did  answers  come;  and 
then  they  were  vague  and  indefinite,  and  meantime 
the  old  man's  heart  had  been  torn  with  suspense  and 
anxiety,  and  he  rebelled  at  the  restriction  placed  upon 
him  by  Frost,  that  he  should  admit  to  nobody  that 
they  were  on  the  trail  of  his  absent  son — that  Frost 
had  known  him  well  "  in  the  mines,"  as  he  said,  though 
by  another  name.  He  disliked  it  still  more  that  there 
was  so  much  of  his  own  life  while  in  the  distant  West 
of  which  Frost  gave  varying  accounts,  and  always 
avoided  speaking;  and  now  it  was  plain  that  he  was 


THE   MYSTEEY    OF    'AIAHBIN    MILL.  227 

"making  up"  to  Nellie;  it  was  plain  that  she  was 
far  from  averse  to  the  attentions  of  this  handsome 
and  distinguished  fellow,  with  his  air  of  reserve  and 
mystery;  and  it  was  plain  that  poor  Dick  Graham  was 
both  miserable  and  suspicious.  He  had  been  set  against 
Frost  from  the  very  first. 

Still  there  was  a  certain  element  with  whom  he  had 
attained  popularity — the  young  men  about  the  village, 
and  especially  those  of  the  large  and  thriving  town  over 
on  the  railway.  He  was  a  superb  horseman,  and  had 
ridden  with  grace  and  ease  a  horse  that  poor  Dick  had 
pronounced  utterly  unmanageable.  Then,  one  night 
during  the  Easter  holidays,  a  large  party  of  the  young 
people  of  Nemahbin  had  driven  over  to  town  to  attend 
the  ball  given  by  a  local  military  organization.  Nel- 
lie was  the  belle  on  the  occasion,  and  was  coquetting 
promiscuously  with  the  officers  and  the  members  of 
the  company,  evidently  to  the  annoyance  of  that  hith- 
erto unrivalled  Mr.  Frost.  Even  gloomy  Dick  Gra- 
ham found  some  comfort  in  this,  but  his  comfort  gave 
way  to  dismay  when,  after  a  brief  and  rather  clumsily 
executed  drill  of  his  command,  the  captain  had  sud- 
denly turned  over  his  sword  to  Mr.  Frost,  and  the 
latter,  as  though  by  previous  arrangement,  stepped 
forward,  and,  with  all  the  ease  of  an  expert  tactician 
and  drill-master,  and  with  stirring,  martial  voice  and 
bearing,  put  the  company  through  one  evolution  after 
another  with  surprising  rapidity,  and  finally  retired, 
the  applauded  and  envied  hero  of  the  occasion.  Nel- 
lie had  monopolized  him  the  rest  of  the  evening,  and 
all  men  held  him  in  great  esteem.  Questioned  as  to 


228  THE    MYSTERY    OF 

his  wonderful  proficiency,  he  laughingly  answered, 
"  Why,  I  soldiered  through  the  last  two  years  of  the 
war  in  the  volunteers,  and  saw  a  good  deal  of  the  reg- 
ulars afterwards,  out  West — that  is,  I  used  to  watch 
them  with  great  interest,"  and  quickly  changed  the 
subject. 

But  Dick  Graham's  jealous  eyes— and  no  eyes  are  so 
sharp  as  those  whose  scrutiny  is  so  whetted — marked 
that  he  had  changed  color,  and  that  his  manner  was 
nervous  and  embarrassed.  From  that  day  on  he 
watched  Frost  like  a  cat. 

June  came  in  with  sunshine  and  roses,  and  a  great 
centennial  celebration  and  exhibition  in  the  far  East, 
and  a  great  convention  for  the  nomination  of  a  presi- 
dent, and  the  country  was  so  taken  up  with  these  stir- 
ring events  that,  when  June  went  out,  precious  little 
attention  was  paid  to  an  affair  that,  a  year  earlier  or 
later,  would  have  thrilled  the  continent  with  horror. 
In  one  short,  sharp,  desperate  struggle  of  a  quarter  of 
an  hour,  Ouster,  the  daring  cavalry  leader  of  the  great 
war — Ouster,  the  yellow-haired,  the  brave,  the  dash- 
ing, the  hero  of  romance  and  fiction  and  soldierly  story 
—Ouster  and  his  whole  command  had  been  swept  out 
of  existence  by  an  overwhelming  force  of  Indians. 

Nellie  was  home  again,  and  Frost  was  now  occupy- 
ing a  room  in  Sam  Morrow's  little  house.  The  old 
man  had  come  to  Dick  but  a  short  time  before  her  re- 
turn, and,  with  something  of  his  old  kind  and  confi- 
dential way,  had  said  to  him  that  Frost  was  to  remain 
with  them  but  a  few  weeks  longer,  and  that  he  was 
unwilling  to  have  him  under  the  same  roof  with  Nellie 


THE   MYSTERY    OF    'MAHBIN   MILL.  229 

even  during  that  little  while.  Morrow  had  begun  to 
look  on  Frost  as  a  liar.  He  felt  certain  that  he  had 
known  his  lost  boy,  but  doubted  now  his  pretensions 
as  to  his  ability  to  find  him.  Indeed,  Frost  admitted 
that  he  had  lost  the  clue,  and  it  was  at  this  time  that 
Morrow  at  last  told  the  minister  of  the  matter.  That 
he  was  being  deceived  in  more  ways  than  one  the  old 
man  was  convinced,  yet  had  nothing  tangible  to  work 
upon;  but  his  worst  suspicions  had  not  really  done 
justice  to  the  facts  in  the  case.  Morrow  would  have 
killed  the  man  could  he  have  known  the  truth — that 
he  knew  well  just  where  the  missing  son  was  to  be 
found,  and  would  not  tell — and  that,  virtually  robbing 
the  old  miller  of  one  child,  he  had  now  well-nigh  robbed 
him  of  the  other.  Between  him  and  Nellie  letters  had 
secretly  passed,  at  regular  intervals,  ever  since  the 
Christmas  vacation.  She  was  fascinated,  yet  she,  too, 
distrusted.  He  swore  that  he  loved  her — longed  to 
make  her  his  wife — yet  forbade  her  confessing  to  her 
father  that  such  was  the  case.  More  than  that,  he 
had  cautioned  her  to  look  for  an  indifferent  manner 
on  his  part  on  her  return.  He  explained  that  her  fa- 
ther disliked  him,  and  would  send  him  away  instantly 
if  their  love  were  suspected.  He  even  urged  her  to  en- 
courage Dick  Graham.  He  was  playing  a  desperate 
game,  indeed.  He  had  hoped  to  win  the  father's 
confidence  with  the  daughter's  love,  and  secure  his 
consent — and  blessing — and  fortune;  but,  as  matters 
stood,  he  knew  that,  though  he  might  win  Nellie,  it 
would  be  in  defiance  of  the  father's  will,  and  that 
meant  disinheritance  and  banishment  for  both. 


230  THE    MYSTERY    OF    'MAHBIN   MILL. 

By  every  art  in  his  power  he  had  striven,  of  late,  to 
curry  favor  with  Graham,  but  without  success.  Dick 
was  coldly  civil,  and  would  have  been  thankful  for  an 
excuse  at  open  rupture.  He  suspected  Frost  of  hav- 
ing won  Nellie  away  from  him,  but  could  prove  abso- 
lutely nothing.  He  believed  him  to  be  a  mere  advent- 
urer, and  had  urged  the  miller  to  write  to  those  con- 
nections of  whom  he  had  boasted — the  Chicago  rela- 
tives—  and  ascertain  his  history;  but  Morrow  had 
sternly  silenced  him  with  the  information  that  he 
knew  it  all — at  least  he  knew  enough.  "Mr.  Frost 
is  here  for  a  purpose,  and  it  is  sufficient  that  I  have 
brought  him  here,"  was  the  old  man's  reply  to  further 
objections,  and  so  poor  Dick  felt  that  nothing  more 
was  to  be  said. 

But  with  Nellie's  return  came  a  revival  of  hope. 
She  was  sweeter,  prettier  than  ever,  and  her  manner 
to  Dick  was  now  as  gentle,  and  even  confidential,  as 
it  had  been  careless  and  indifferent  during  the  late 
winter.  She  came  home  about  the  15th  of  June,  and 
for  the  fortnight  that  followed  it  was  Dick,  not  Mr. 
Frost,  whom  she  seemed  to  favor.  Graham  hardly 
dared  believe  the  evidence  of  his  senses,  but  was  too 
blissful  to  analyze  matters.  The  old  man,  of  late,  had 
taken  to  spending  some  hours  in  the  evening  down 
at  his  office  in  the  mill,  and  Frost  was  generally  clos- 
eted there  with  him.  Very  surly  and  sad  and  irasci- 
ble the  miller  had  grown.  He  was  bitter  and  unjust 
to  everybody.  Several  times  he  had  angrily  repri- 
manded Graham  in  the  presence  of  customers  and 
mill-hands  for  things  that  were  entirely  of  Frost's  do- 


THE    MYSTERY    OF    'MAHBIN    MILL.  231 

ing.  There  had  been  errors  in  the  accounts,  over 
which  the  farmers  had  growled  not  a  little ;  and  one 
day,  bursting  from  a  group  of  men  who  had  been  call- 
ing his  attention  to  a  matter  of  the  kind,  the  old  man 
stamped  furiously  into  the  office,  shut  the  door  after 
him  with  a  bang,  and  was  heard  to  say,  in  loud  and 
angry  tones,  to  some  one,  "Now  the  next  time  this 
happens,  by  God,  you  go  !" 

A  moment  after,  Dick  Graham  came  from  the  office 
into  the  mill,  and  that  night  it  was  told  in  Nemahbin 
that  the  old  man  had  threatened  to  discharge  him. 
He  and  Graham  seemed  to  get  along  very  badly,  and 
no  man  could  explain  it. 

But,  gaining  hope  from  Nellie's  smiles,  Dick  was 
ready  to  bear  up  against  the  old  man's  lit  of  rage. 
At  heart,  he  knew  the  miller  liked  and  trusted  him. 
There  was  much  he  could  not  fathom,  but  was  content 
to  wait  and  watch.  Meantime  he  kept  his  eye  on 
Frost — noted  how  nervous  and  ill  at  ease  he  was  be- 
coming, marked  his  labored  attempts  to  win  his  friend- 
ship, and  withheld  it  the  more  guardedly. 

One  day,  about  a  week  after  Nellie's  return,  busi- 
ness required  that  he  and  Frost  should  go  together  to 
the  neighboring  town  on  the  railway.  They  were 
standing  by  the  elevator  on  a  side-track  with  a  knot  of 
young  men,  when  a  train  came  rumbling  in  from  the 
East,  and  as  it  drew  up  at  the  station  it  was  seen  that 
the  rear  car  was  filled  with  soldiers. 

" Hello  !"  shouted  one  of  the  party.  "Let's  go  and 
have  a  look  at  the  regulars."  Dick  started  with  the 
rest,  but  suddenly  stopped.  An  indefinable  sensation 


232  THE    MYSTERY    OF 

prompted  him  to  look  around  for  Frost,  and  Frost 
was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Turning  quickly  back,  he 
entered  the  open  doorway  of  the  little  warehouse,  and 
there,  in  a  dark  corner,  peering  through  a  knot-hole 
over  towards  the  station,  was  his  mysterious  compan- 
ion. Dick  approached  him  on  tiptoe,  and  clapped  him 
sharply  on  the  shoulder. 

"Come,  man!  come  and  see  the  soldiers;  some  of 
your  friends  may  be  there." 

White  as  death  was  Frost's  face  as  he  turned  with 
fearful  start.  Then,  seeing  it  was  Graham,  and  sus- 
pecting it  was  a  trick,  he  flushed  crimson,  and  angrily, 
though  with  trembling  lips,  replied, 

"  My  friends  !  what  do  you  mean  ?  How  the  devil 
should  I  have  friends  among  them  ?  Go  yourself,  if 
you  want  to  see  them,  but  leave  me  alone." 

And  Graham  turned  away,  more  than  ever  convinced 
that,  in  some  way,  Frost's  knowledge  of  soldiering  was 
derived  from  personal  experiences  he  wished  to  con- 
ceal. 

A  week  more,  and  he  had  another  opportunity  of 
testing  it.  Going  to  the  village  for  the  mail,  he  found 
a  group  of  men  eagerly  listening  to  one  of  their  num- 
ber who  was  reading  aloud  the  terrible  details  of  the 
Ouster  massacre.  Graham  heard  it  all  in  silence,  got 
the  mill  mail,  and  walked  thoughtfully  homeward. 
Old  Morrow  was  seated  with  Nellie  in  the  porch,  and 
Frost,  hat  in  hand,  was  standing  at  the  foot  of  the 
steps,  looking  up  at  them  as  he  spoke  deferentially  to 
the  miller. 

"Any  news,  Dick?"  asked  the  miller,  shortly. 


THE   MYSTERY    OF    ?MAHBIN   MILL.  233 

"Terrible  news,  sir!"  said  Graham,  eying  Frost 
closely  as  he  spoke.  "General  Ouster  and  his  regi- 
ment, the  Seventh  Cavalry,  were  butchered  by  the 
Indians  a  fortnight  ago." 

Frost  fairly  staggered.  A  wild  light  shot  into  his 
face  ;  his  hat  fell  from  his  nerveless  hand. 

"I  do  not  believe  a  word  of  it !"  he  gasped.  "It's 
a  lie !  They  never  could !  Give  me  the  paper,"  he 
demanded,  hoarsely ;  but  Graham  coolly  avoided  his 
attempt  to  seize  it  and  handed  the  paper  to  Morrow. 
Eying  him  closely,  as  Dick  had  done,  the  miller  tore 
the  wrapper  with  provoking  deliberation,  and  finally 
gave  the  contents  to  Frost.  He  had  partially  recov- 
ered self-control  by  this  time,  but  his  hands  shook  like 
palsy  as  he  unfolded  the  paper. 

"  My  God  !  it's  true  !  —  mainly  true,  at  least,"  he 
gasped,  while  drops  of  sweat  started  to  his  forehead. 
"  All  with  him  were  killed.  It  has  knocked  the  breath 
out  of  me.  I  knew  so  many  of  them  out  there,  you 
know." 

"  In  Arizona  ?"  asked  Morrow. 

"  Ye  -  yes  —  Arizona !"  he  stammered.  "  It  tells 
here  what  officers  were  killed,  but  does  not  give  the 
names  of  the  men.  I  wish  it  did.  I  wish  I  knew. 
They  are  the  ones  I  saw  most  of."  Then  he  stopped 
short,  as  though  he  had  said  too  much.  And  all  the 
time  both  Morrow  and  Graham  had  never  ceased  their 
rigid  scrutiny,  and  he  knew  it.  He  hurriedly  went 
away. 


234  THE   MYSTERY    OF 


CHAPTER  III. 

THAT  night  Nellie  was  fitful  and  constrained  in 
manner.  Dick  went  home  restless  and  unhappy.  It 
was  very  late,  but  there  was  the  light  burning  bright- 
ly down  at  the  office. 

"Who  are  there?"  he  asked  the  lad  who  did  odd 
jobs  around  the  miller's  house,  and  who  slept  in  Gra- 
ham's cottage. 

"  Mr.  Morrow  and  Frost.  Gosh  !  how  the  old  man 
has  been  cussin'  him.  He  cusses  everybody  round 
here  now,  don't  he  ?  I  heerd  down  in  the  village  you 
was  going  to  quit." 

Graham  made  no  reply,  but  turned  gloomily  into 
his  own  room. 

Next  morning  Frost  came  to  him  looking  very  pale 
and  nervous. 

"  Graham,"  he  said,  "  I  want  to  ask  a  great  favor. 
I  must  go  to  Chicago,  and  I  want  twenty  dollars. 
Will  you  lend  me  that  much  ?  I  will  give  it  to  you 
again  next  week." 

"  Why  do  you  come  to  me  ?"  asked  Graham,  shortly. 

"  The  old  man  and  I  are  at  loggerheads,  and — I  know 
he  would  not  let  me  have  it.  Once  in  Chicago,  and 
I  can  get  money,  you  shall  have  it — sure." 

Graham  hesitated.     He  had  saved  but  little  from 


235 

the  small  stipend  allowed  him,  but  a  thought  struck 
him  that  the  surest  way  to  get  rid  of  an  objectionable 
acquaintance  was  to  lend  him  money.  It  might  keep 
Frost  from  returning.  Stepping  to  his  worn  old  desk, 
he  unlocked  and  opened  it,  took  from  an  inner  com- 
partment a  small  roll  of  bills,  counted  out  twenty  dol- 
lars, and  handed  it  to  Frost  without  a  word. 

"  You  think  you  won't  get  this  back,  Graham,  but 
you  will,"  said  the  latter,  as  he  eagerly  took  it  and 
went  away.  This  was  a  Tuesday  morning.  On  the 
following  Sunday  Dick  Graham  was  amazed  to  see 
Frost  standing  at  the  miller's  gate  talking  earnestly 
with  Nellie,  who  dropped  her  head  and  scurried  into 
the  house  as  she  caught  sight  of  his  approaching  form. 

"  Back,  you  see  !"  said  Frost,  holding  out  his  hand, 
which  Dick  unwillingly  took.  He  had  returned  a  new 
man.  His  clothes,  that  had  begun  to  grow  shabby, 
were  replaced  by  new  ones  of  stylish  cut  and  make; 
his  eyes  were  bright,  his  color  high,  his  voice  ringing 
and  animated;  his  manner  was  brisk  and  cheery,  yet 
nervous. 

"  Have  you  seen  Mr.  Morrow  ?"  was  all  Graham 
could  find  to  say  by  the  way  of  welcome.  "He  is 
down  at  the  mill,  and  wants  you." 

It  had  been  a  wretched  five  days  for  Dick.  Twice 
he  had  surprised  Nellie  in  tears  that  she  could  not  ex- 
plain, and  the  old  man  had  treated  him  with  gross  in- 
justice on  several  occasions.  All  his  old  fury  of  man- 
ner had  been  redoubled.  He  openly  accused  Dick  of 
having  furnished  money  to  aid  Frost  in  getting  away 
when  he  knew  him  to  be  a  cheat  and  an  impostor;  knew 


236 

that  Frost  had  garbled  the  accounts  and  been  stealing 
at  the  mill,  and  in  all  probability  he  was  no  better  than 
an  accomplice.  Twice  Dick's  indignation  and  wrath 
had  given  way  to  angry  retort,  and  the  story  had  gone 
far  and  wide  around  Nemahbin  that  the  old  man  and 
the  young  one  were  bitter  enemies,  and  Dick  had 
openly  vowed  he  could  stand  it  no  longer.  Then  Nel- 
lie, who  had  been  coquetting  with  his  hopes  and  fears, 
had  once  again  plunged  him  into  the  depths.  He 
loved  her  blindly,  madly,  poor  fellow,  and  was  bent 
as  she  willed,  but  the  time  had  come  when  he  could 
brook  his  ills  no  longer  ;  and  that  Sunday  evening, 
standing  by  the  rushing  stream  down  below  the  dam, 
and  moodily  throwing  stone  after  stone  into  the  dark 
waters,  Dick  Graham  had  determined  to  face  his  fate, 
and  have  the  matter  ended  then  and  there. 

He  was  to  take  her  to  the  village  for  evening  ser- 
vice. She  and  her  aunt  quite  frequently  spent  the 
night  with  friends  in  'Mahbin  in  preference  to  coming 
back  to  the  mill  through  the  darkness,  and  this  bright 
July  day  had  turned  to  night,  dark,  cloudy,  overcast, 
with  heavy  fog-wreaths  whirling  through  the  cheer- 
less air.  The  rain  came  pattering  down  as  they  left 
the  church,  and  hospitable  friends  urged  their  stay. 
Ten  minutes  later  Dick  was  standing  in  the  bright 
light  of  a  parlor,  face  to  face  with  the  girl  who  had 
been  his  idol  from  boyhood  until  now.  They  were 
alone.  She  saw  in  his  face  that  the  crisis  had  come, 
and  was  pale  and  nervous  as  he  was  pale  and  deter- 
mined, yet  she  strove  to  assume  a  light  and  laughing 
manner. 


THE   MYSTERY    OF    'MAIIBIN   MILL.  237 

"  What  is  it,  Dick  ?  You  have  been  solemn  as  an 
undertaker  for  a  whole  week,  and  to-night  you  are 
like — I  don't  know  what." 

Quickly  he  seized  her  hands,  and  held  them  firmly 
against  every  effort  to  draw  them  away.  His  heart 
beat  like  a  hammer,  his  eyes  were  flaming  with  the 
fire  of  his  love,  his  lips  quivered  and  twitched  with 
the  intensity  of  his  emotion. 

"  Nellie,"  he  said,  "  I  can  stand  it  no  longer  !  That 
man  is  back  again  ;  I  saw  you  with  him  to-day.  I — 
oh  ! — time  and  again  I  have  told  you  how  I  loved  you. 
It  is  more  than  love — it  is  worship,  almost.  It  has 
been  so  ever  since  you  were  a  little  girl  and  I  carried 
you  to  school.  You  did  care  for  me — you  know  you 
did — until  this  fellow  came  here  and  made  us  all 
wretched.  Nellie,  I  will  have  an  answer  to-night.  I 
will  know  if  you  love  me  ;  tell  me,  tell  me  now."  It 
was  no  longer  an  imploring  prayer,  it  was  a  de- 
mand. 

Struggle  though  she  might,  she  could  not  free  her- 
self. His  eyes  seemed  to  burn  into  hers,  and  she 
shrank  from  their  wild  gaze  as  though  they  stung  to 
her  very  soul. 

"Answer  me,"  he  said.  "You  told  me  you  loved 
me  last  Christmas.  Do  you  love  me  now  ?" 

"  Oh,  Dick,  I— I  didn't  know.  I  could  not  tell," 
she  gasped  ;  "  I  thought  I  loved  you,  but — " 

"  But  now  you  know  you  love  him,  is  it  ?"  he 
almost  hissed.  "  Do  you  know  what  I  think  of  him  ? 
He  is  a  scoundrel,  a  man  without  home  or  name.  He 
has  a  history  he  dare  not  tell ;  he  lies  every  time  he 


238  THE    MYSTERY    OF 

answers  a  question  ;  he  wants  to  marry  you  because 
you  will  be  rich,  but  that's  all." 

"  You  shall  not  speak  of  him  so,"  she  interrupted 
in  wrath  and  indignation.  "  He  is  a  gentleman,  and 
he  does  love  me,  and  all  you  say  of  him  is  false.  I 
know  he  has  been  unhappy,  unfortunate — " 

"  He  has  been  more  than  that,  I'll  be  bound,"  sneered 
Graham,  all  bitter,  jealous  anger  now.  "  He  is  a  crimi- 
nal of  some  kind — mark  my  words." 

"How  dare  you?"  she  cried;  "oh,  how  dare  you? 
He  would  crush  you  if  you  would  dare  speak  so  to 
him.  I  will  never  forgive  you — never.  I  never  want 
to  see  or  speak  to  you  again — " 

"What  do  you  say?"  he  gasped,  livid  with  pain 
and  misery. 

"  I  never  want  to  see  or  speak  to  you  again,"  she 
repeated,  though  her  eyes  quailed  before  the  dumb 
agony  of  his.  For  a  moment  there  was  dead  silence. 
Then  with  one  long  look  in  her  paling  face  he  said, 
slowly,  almost  humbly : 

"  I  take  you  at  your  word.  Life  has  been  hell  to 
me  here  for  a  long  time,  and  you — you,  whom  I  loved 
— have  driven  me  from  the  only  home  I  ever  had." 

One  instant  more  and  he  was  gone,  leaving  her  sob- 
bing wildly,  she  hardly  knew  why. 

And  early  next  morning  came  the  fearful  news  that 
her  father  lay  murdered  at  the  mill. 

A  week  of  intense  excitement  followed.  !N"ot  only 
in  Nemahbin  was  the  mysterious  death  of  old  Morrow 
the  one  subject  of  conversation,  but  all  through  the 
surrounding  counties  people  talked  of  nothing  else. 


THE    MYSTERY    OF   'lIAHBIN    MILL.  239 

By  sunset  of  that  beautiful  Monday  the  news  had 
spread  far  and  wide  ;  the  reporters  of  the  city  jour- 
nals were  already  on  the  spot,  and  by  Tuesday  night 
the  verdict  of  the  coroner's  jury  had  gone  forth  and 
the  officers  of  the  law  were  in  search  of  the  criminal, 
whose  name  flashed  over  the  humming  wires  from  one 
ocean  to  another.  Richard  Graham  stood  accused  of 
the  murder  of  his  employer,  and  Richard  Graham  had 
gone,  no  one  knew  whither. 

But  there  were  those  who  could  not  and  would  not 
believe  it  of  him,  and  foremost  among  them  was  the 
minister.  The  evidence  against  him  was  mainly  cir- 
cumstantial ;  the  principal  accuser  was  Frost,  and  the 
chain  of  circumstances  that  linked  Graham  with  the 
crime  were  substantially  as  follows  : 

The  boy  who  worked  around  the  mill-house  and 
slept  in  the  second  story  of  the  Graham's  cottage  tes- 
tified that  about  half  an  hour  before  sunset  Sunday 
evening  he  heard  old  Morrow  "  cussing  and  swearing" 
at  somebody  down  in  the  mill,  while  he  was  going  out 
to  drive  the  cows  home  ;  didn't  see  who  it  was,  but 
ten  minutes  afterwards  as  he  came  back  he  saw  Gra- 
ham pitching  stones  into  the  stream  down  below  the 
mill,  "looking  queer  ;"  called  to  him  twice,  but  Gra- 
ham did  not  answer  ;  supposed  he  was  mad  at  the  old 
man  for  cussing  him  so — they  had  had  lots  of  trouble 
for  a  week  ;  heard  the  old  man  tell  him  he  was  going 
to  get  rid  of  him  if  he  didn't  do  different. 

That  night  he  (the  witness)  went  out  in  the  coun- 
try a  piece  and  did  not  come  home  until  half-past  ten. 
It  was  all  dark  around  the  mill  when  he  got  back.  It 


240  THE    MYSTERY    OP 

had  been  raining,  but  the  sky  was  brighter  then,  and 
as  he  passed  the  south  door  he  was  surprised  to  see  it 
open.  The  old  man  generally  locked  it  and  went 
home  early.  He  was  just  going  to  go  and  shut  it 
when  a  man  came  out.  It  "skeered"  him  because 
the  old  man  had  given  him  fits  for  being  out  late  and 
lying  abed  in  the  morning,  so  he  stopped  short  to  wait 
until  he  got  away.  The  man  shut  and  locked  the 
door,  and  walked  up  the  road  ahead  of  him,  and  then 
he  saw  that  it  was  not  the  old  man,  but  young  Gra- 
ham, and  that  Mr.  Graham  was  going  straight  up  to 
the  mill-house,  so  he  cut  across  to  the  cottage  and  got 
in  soft  as  he  could.  Yes,  it  might  have  been  eleven 
o'clock  by  that  time,  and  he  did  not  want  Mr.  Frost, 
or  Mr.  Graham  either,  to  know  he  was  out  so  late. 
It  was  all  dark  at  the  mill-house,  and  all  dark  at  the 
cottage,  but  Mr.  Frost  heard  him  and  called  him  into 
his  room  and  asked  for  a  dipper  of  water.  Mr.  Frost 
was  in  bed  and  asked  him  what  time  it  was,  and  said 
he  had  been  asleep,  but  waked  up  with  a  headache ; 
told  him  he  did  not  know  the  time  ;  didn't  want  him 
to  know  it  was  so  late,  'cause  he  might  tell  the  old 
man.  Mr.  Frost  asked  him  where  Dick  was,  and  just 
then  they  heard  Dick  coming  up  the  front  steps,  and 
the  witness  went  up  to  his  own  room.  Heard  them 
talking  down-stairs  for  a  little  while,  but  could  not 
understand  what  they  were  saying  ;  did  not  listen 
particularly  ;  went  to  sleep,  and  slept  a  good  while  ; 
was  awakened  by  hearing  some  noise  in  Dick's  room, 
which  was  directly  under  his — sounded  like  something 
glass  being  broken,  but  everything  was  quiet  right  off, 


THE    MYSTEKY    OF    'MAHBIN   MILL.  241 

and  he  thought  he  might  have  dreamed  it.  Next 
thing  he  knowed  it  was  morning,  and  Mandy,  the 
cook  over  at  the  mill-house,  was  calling  to  him  from 
the  bottom  of  the  stairs  to  get  up  right  off — the  mas- 
ter hadn't  come  home  all  night,  and  there  was  people 
waitin'  down  at  the  mill.  Dick's  room  was  open  and 
the  bed  hadn't  been  slept  on,  and  his  clothes  and  things 
were  all  thrown  all  round  on  the  floor  ;  it  looked  queer, 
she  said ;  he  was  gone,  too ;  ran  down  as  quick  as  he 
could  dress  and  called  Mr.  Frost,  who  was  asleep  in 
bed  and  did  not  wake  easy ;  called  him  three  or  four 
times  and  banged  on  the  door,  and  at  last  opened  it 
and  called  him  louder  ;  then  he  woke  up  slowly  and 
wanted  to  know  the  matter ;  told  him  Mandy  said 
Mr.  Morrow  had  not  been  home  and  that  Dick  was 
not  there,  and  there  was  farmers  with  wheat  at  the 
mill.  He  said  go  and  open  the  mill  and  he  would  be 
down  in  a  minute  ;  told  him  that  Dick  had  the  key 
and  had  locked  the  mill  late  last  night ;  saw  him  do 
it.  Mr.  Frost  jumped  right  up  in  bed  excited  like  and 
said,  "  You  saw  him  do  it !  When,  where  were  you  ?" 
and  so  had  to  tell  him  about  Dick's  being  there,  coming 
out  of  the  mill  late  as  nearly  eleven  o'clock.  Then 
Mandy  came  back  and  said  she  found  the  key  hang- 
ing on  the  peg  inside  the  hall-door,  and  witness  took 
it  and  went  down  and  opened  the  south  door.  The 
office  window-shade  was  down  and  the  office  door  on 
the  east  side  was  shut,  and  so  it  was  kinder  dark,  but 
he  and  the  two  men  waiting  there  went  right  through 
the  mill  into  the  office,  and  there  they  found  the  old 
man  dead  on  the  floor,  with  lots  of  blood  streaming 
16 


242  THE    MYSTERY    OF 

from  his  head.  It  skeered  him  awful,  and  they  ran 
out.  Then  Mr.  Frost  came,  and  he  was  pale,  and  said, 
"My  God,  what  an  awful  thing  !"  and  they  sent  right 
to  'Mahbin  for  Dr.  Green,  and  the  mayor  and  consta- 
ble ;  and  that  was  all  he  knowed. 

Doctor  Green's  testimony,  divested  of  professional 
technicalities,  was  to  the  effect  that  the  miller  had 
been  killed  at  least  six  or  eight  hours,  and  that  death 
was  the  result  of  the  gun-shot  wound  through  the 
head.  The  bullet  was  found  imbedded  in  the  skull 
at  the  back  of  the  head,  and  had  entered  under  the 
left  eye.  The  face  was  burned  and  blackened  by  pow- 
der. No  other  wound  or  hurt  was  found  upon  the 
body.  The  doctor  had  arrived  at  the  mill  about  6.45 
A.M.,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Lowrie,  the  mayor  of  Ne- 
mahbin,  an  old  friend  of  the  deceased.  When  they 
arrived,  Mr.  Frost  was  in  charge  of  the  premises,  and 
stated  that  no  one  had  entered  the  office  since  the 
moment  he  had  arrived  at  the  spot. 

Mr.  Lowrie  testified  to  coming  with  the  doctor  ; 
being  received  by  Mr.  Frost  and  ushered  into  the 
office.  The  deceased  was  then  lying  on  his  face  with 
his  feet  near  the  window.  There  was  much  blood  on 
the  floor,  and  spattered  on  the  legs  of  an  office  chair 
that  stood  close  by  the  head.  No  weapon  of  any  kind 
was  found  in  the  office,  and  the  object  of  the  murder 
was  explained  at  a  glance ;  the  desk  was  rifled,  the 
safe  was  open,  and  while  the  papers  therein  were  found 
undisturbed,  the  cash  drawer,  in  which  it  was  known 
that  the  deceased  generally  kept  a  good  deal  of  money, 
was  empty.  Other  testimony  established  the  fact  that 


243 

he  had  as  much  as  five  hundred  dollars  in  the  drawer 
on  the  previous  Saturday.  In  presence  of  the  mayor, 
constable,  Mr.  Frost,  and  one  or  two  neighbors,  the 
bullet  had  been  cut  out  from  behind  by  the  doctor. 
It  was  slightly  flattened,  and  in  shape,  and  in  its  ex- 
act weight  as  subsequently  determined,  it  corresponded 
exactly  with  those  of  a  "five-shooting"  revolver  of 
peculiar  make  known  as  "the  Avenger."  To  Mr. 
Lowrie's  knowledge  only  two  pistols  of  that  kind  were 
owned  in  that  neighborhood,  and  both  had  been  bought 
by  him  two  years  before  at  a  time  when  there  was  a 
scare  about  mad  dogs.  One  he  still  owned,  and  it 
was  now  at  home,  locked  up  in  his  desk  ;  the  other 
was  Richard  Graham's,  and  he  had  seen  it  in  his  pos- 
session less  than  a  week  ago. 

Mr.  Frost's  testimony,  given  with  much  emotion 
and  apparent  reluctance,  was  to  this  effect :  His  first 
knowledge  of  the  murder  was  Monday  morning  about 
six  o'clock,  when  summoned  to  the  mill  by  the  tidings 
that  Mr.  Morrow  had  not  been  home  all  night.  Going 
to  the  east  entrance,  he  found  the  boy,  Schaffer,  and 
two  young  farmers,  frightened  and  excited  over  what 
they  had  seen  in  the  office.  He  went  in  at  once,  fol- 
lowed by  them,  and  saw  at  a  glance  that  murder  had 
been  done,  though  his  first  thought  was  suicide.  He 
merely  turned  the  body  enough  to  see  that  the  wound 
was  in  the  face,  and  to  satisfy  himself  and  the  others 
that  no  pistol  was  near,  and  then,  pointing  to  the  fact 
that  the  safe  and  desk  were  both  open,  he  ordered 
everybody  out  and  closed  the  door  until  the  arrival 
of  the  officials  from  Nemahbin. 


244 

Questioned  as  to  his  own  movements  the  previous 
night,  he  said  that  after  supper,  when  Graham  drove 
the  ladies  to  town,  he  himself  had  gone  home  and  read 
an  hour,  but,  feeling  drowsy,  had  gone  to  bed,  waking 
up  some  hours  later  with  a  headache  on  hearing  the 
boy  coming  in.  The  boy  said  he  didn't  know  the 
time,  but  it  must  have  been  eleven  o'clock,  and  just 
then  Graham  came  up  the  steps  and  the  boy  went  to 
his  own  room ;  witness  called  out  to  him  twice  and 
got  no  answer,  and  at  last,  thinking  it  queer  that  Gra- 
ham did  not  go  to  bed,  but  kept  moving  briskly  about, 
he  rose  and  went  into  the  front  room  in  his  night-shirt, 
and  found  Graham  packing  a  big  satchel  he  had,  and 
rummaging  through  the  clothes  on  the  pegs.  Asked 
him  what  was  the  matter,  and  Graham  hardly  noticed 
him — merely  said  he  was  going  away  awhile  ;  could 
not  help  noticing  how  queer  and  strange  he  looked, 
and  how  oddly  he  behaved  ;  he  was  very  pale,  and 
muttered  to  himself  every  now  and  then  ;  asked  him 
twice  if  he  had  any  reason  for  going,  and  when  he 
would  return,  but  only  got  evasive  answers  and  averted 
looks  ;  knew  that  there  had  been  ugly  words  between 
the  deceased  and  Graham  very  often  during  the  month 
past,  and  that  there  was  an  angry  altercation  between 
them  down  at  the  mill  just  before  supper-time ;  the 
deceased  had  told  him  that  he  was  going  to  discharge 
Graham  ;  he  was  getting  too  insolent  and  rebellious 
to  suit  him  ;  Graham  hardly  ate  anything  at  supper, 
and  the  old  man  did  not  come  up  to  the  house  until 
after  they  had  driven  off  to  church.  That  was  the 
last  he  saw  of  him  alive — as  he  passed  the  cottage  on 


THE   MYSTERY    OF    *MAHBIN    MILL.  245 

his  way  to  the  mill-house.  Asked  as  to  whether  any- 
thing of  unusual  or  suspicious  nature  had  occurred 
during  the  day  or  evening,  Frost  said  that  one  thing 
struck  him  as  queer.  Graham's  revolver  hung  habitu- 
ally at  the  head  of  his  bed,  and  when  he  concluded  to 
go  to  bed  that  evening  he  went  into  Graham's  room 
to  look  at  the  clock  and  saw  that  his  pistol  was  gone. 
It  had  been  there  during  the  day,  and  he  never  knew 
him  to  carry  it  before.  Asked  if  he  saw  it  in  Gra- 
ham's possession  Sunday  night,  he  replied  that  he  saw 
it  sticking  from  the  hip  pocket  of  his  trousers  ;  that 
Graham  had  his  coat  off  and  was  washing  his  hands 
at  the  time.  One  other  ugly  circumstance  was  noted: 
Graham  had  been  burning  a  lot  of  papers  and  things 
in  the  stove  before  being  interrupted.  When  the 
stove  was  examined  in  the  morning  some  buttons  were 
found,  charred  and  partially  destroyed  in  the  ashes, 
but  they  were  clearly  identified  as  the  buttons  of  the 
canvas  overalls  Graham  wore  around  the  mill — which 
were  missing — and  behind  the  stove  was  found  a  fine 
cambric  handkerchief  that  Graham  only  used  when 
he  wore  his  best,  or  Sunday  suit,  which  he  had  on  all 
that  day,  and  this  handkerchief  was  stained  with  blood. 
Nellie  Morrow  was  so  fearfully  agitated  by  the 
tragedy  that  her  own  evidence  was  only  drawn  from 
her  bit  by  bit.  She  confirmed  the  statement  of  Dick's 
pallor  and  his  silence  all  that  evening,  and  then  with 
hysterical  sobbing  told  of  their  quarrel  after  church 
and  his  leaving  her,  as  he  said,  never  to  return  ;  but 
she  protested  that  he  had  "never  a  thing  against 
father,"  and  that  he  never,  never  could  have  harmed 


246  THE    MYSTERY    OF    JMAHBIN   MILL. 

him.  All  other  obtainable  evidence  had  the  same 
general  tendency,  and  despite  his  years  of  sturdy  pro- 
bity and  the  excellence  of  his  character,  Dick  Graham 
had  to  bear  the  burden  of  the  accumulation  of  evi- 
dence against  him.  The  absent  always  have  the  worst 
of  it,  and  his  flight  had  confirmed  the  theories  of  many 
an  unwilling  mind.  He  was  the  murderer  of  his  former 
friend  and  benefactor. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  WEEK  passed,  and  with  no  tidings  of  him.  De- 
tectives had  been  scouring  the  country  in  every  direc- 
tion. A  man  answering  his  description  was  arrested 
in  Chicago,  and  turned  out  to  be  somebody  else.  A 
dozen  times  it  was  reported  that  now  the  sleuth- 
hounds  of  the  law  had  run  down  their  victim,  but 
the  entire  month  of  July  passed  away,  and  the  com- 
munity had  gradually  settled  down  to  the  belief  that 
Graham  had  made  good  his  escape  and  taken  with 
him  some  five  hundred  dollars  of  his  murdered  mas- 
ter's money. 

Old  Morrow  had  been  duly  and  reverently  buried. 
A  younger  brother  from  a  distant  state  came  to  the 
scene  as  executor  of  the  will,  in  conjunction  with  Mr. 
Lowrie,  and  under  his  management  the  mill  resumed 
its  functions  for  the  benefit  of  the  estate.  Except 
some  legacies  to  this  brother  and  to  the  sister  who 
had  taken  charge  of  Nellie  and  his  household,  old 
Morrow  had  left  his  property,  valued  at  over  forty 


247 

thousand  dollars,  to  be  divided  equally  between  his 
two  children  should  Sam  reappear  ;  but  if  proof  of 
his  death  were  obtained,  his  share  was  to  go  to  Nellie. 

A  week  after  the  funeral,  acting  on  the  advice  of 
the  minister  and  the  village  doctor,  Nellie's  relatives 
sent  her  to  Chicago.  She  had  suffered  greatly  in 
health,  and  was  in  a  condition  of  nervous  depression. 
Whenever  Dick's  crime  was  mentioned  in  her  pres- 
ence, she  would  vehemently  assert  her  belief  in  his 
innocence,  and  then  shudderingly  accuse  herself,  with 
piteous  crying,  of  being  the  cause  of  all  his  trouble, 
and  perhaps  of  her  father's  death.  Another  thing. 
She  who  had  plainly  shown  herself  fascinated  by  Mr. 
Frost's  many  graces  and  attractions  during  the  pre- 
ceding winter,  now  refused  to  see  him.  He  hung 
around  the  house,  full  of  respectful  sympathy  and 
lover-like  interest,  but  was  visibly  chagrined  at  her 
persistent  avoidance.  To  the  minister  she  confessed 
that  she  had  been  greatly  interested  in  Frost — perhaps 
a  little  in  love  with  him  ;  he  flattered  and  delighted 
her,  and  it  made  Dick  jealous.  She  didn't  know  how 
or  why  she  so  encouraged  him,  but  she  had,  and  now 
she  shrank  from  seeing  him  at  all.  Her  deep  affliction 
would  excuse  it. 

A  week  after  she  left  for  Chicago  Mr.  Frost  con- 
cluded that  he  would  go  thither  himself.  The  new 
master  needed  no  bookkeeper,  he  said,  and  Frost  was 
too  fine  a  gentleman  to  do  Dick's  work  around  the 
mill.  He  was  neither  invited  to  go  nor  to  stay.  He 
was  allowed  to  go  and  come  without  apparent  let  or 
hindrance,  yet,  before  the  train  which  bore  him  away 


248  THE    MYSTERY    OP    *MAHBIN    MILL. 

was  well  out  of  sight,  a  new  farm-hand,  who  worked 
at  odd  jobs  around  a  neighboring  place  on  the  lake, 
suddenly  entered  the  railway  station,  wrote  ten  hurried 
words  on  a  telegraph-blank,  and  handed  it  to  the  op- 
erator, whereupon  the  operator  gazed  at  him  in  quick 
surprise,  then  whistled  softly  to  himself,  nodded  ap- 
preciatively, and  clicked  away  the  message,  with  the 
addition  of  a  cabalistic  "  Rush,"  and  Mr.  Frost's  train 
was  boarded  at  Milwaukee  by  a  number  of  people  who 
took  no  special  note  of  him,  and  by  one  man  who  never 
lost  sight  of  him  from  that  moment  until  he  locked  his 
bedroom  door  behind  him  at  night. 

Then  the  minister  received  a  call  from  the  new 
farm-hand,  who  brought  with  him  a  young  man  who 
worked  on  a  place  over  near  Eagle  Prairie,  a  railway 
station  some  distance  off  to  the  southwest.  This 
young  man  had  spent  Sunday  calling  on  a  sweetheart 
in  'Mahbin,  and  had  started  about  7.30  P.M.  to  walk  to 
the  large  town  seven  miles  away,  where  he  would  take 
the  cars  homeward.  He  saw  Nellie,  her  aunt,  and  a 
young  man  driving  into  town,  and  by  eight  o'clock  he 
himself  was  passing  the  mill.  It  was  just  growing 
dark,  so  that  he  could  not  distinguish  faces,  but  he 
saw  two  men  standing  by  the  office — one  short,  stout, 
and  elderly,  the  other  tall  and  slender  and  straight. 
The  older  man  was  talking  furiously  and  angrily  ; 
heard  him  say,  "  I  told  you  an  hour  ago  to  keep  away 
from  me.  You  have  lied  to  me  right  along.  You  are 
a  thief  and  a  scoundrel,  I  believe,  and  you  are  a  damned 
coward  and  deserter — a  deserter,  by  God  !  and  I've 
got  the  papers  to  prove  it !" 


THE    MYSTERY    OP    'MAHBIN    MILL.  249 

What  the  tall  man  said  he  could  not  hear.  He 
spoke  low — seemed  to  be  arguing  with  the  old  man, 
begging  him  to  be  quiet,  and  they  went  into  the  office. 
Then  the  young  man  walked  on  a  few  hundred  yards, 
when  it  came  on  to  rain  very  hard,  and  he  stopped  and 
took  shelter  under  a  little  fishing-shed  there  was  right 
at  the  edge  of  the  lake.  The  rain  held  up  in  fifteen 
minutes,  and  he  started  on  again  over  the  causeway, 
"  and  hadn't  more'n  got  a  rod "  when  he  heard  what 
sounded  like  a  pistol-shot  back  at  the  mill.  He  stopped 
short  and  listened  two  minutes,  but  heard  nothing 
more,  so  went  on  and  thought  no  more  of  it  until  he 
heard  of  the  murder — but  that  was  not  until  a  week 
after  it  happened,  when  he  came  up  from  the  farm  to 
Eagle  village  and  heard  people  talking  about  it. 

But  with  the  first  week  in  August  carne  exciting 
news.  Far  to  the  northwest  across  the  Missouri,  Dick 
Graham  had  been  traced  and  followed  by  a  Wisconsin 
detective,  who  found  him  in  the  uniform  of  the  regu- 
lar army,  just  marching  off  with  his  comrades  to  join 
General  Terry's  forces,  then  in  the  field  up  the  Yel- 
lowstone. In  his  possession  was  the  Avenger  revolver 
and  over  one  hundred  dollars  in  greenbacks.  On  two 
five-dollar  bills  there  was  a  broad  and  ugly  stain, 
which  microscopic  examination  proved  to  be  blood. 
Graham  appeared  utterly  stunned  at  the  arrest ;  ex- 
pressed the  greatest  grief  and  horror  at  hearing  of 
the  murder  of  Mr.  Morrow,  and  professed  his  entire 
willingness  to  go  back  and  stand  trial.  The  story  of 
his  "escape"  to  that  distance  was  now  easily  told. 
The  detectives  had  speedily  satisfied  themselves  he 


250  THE    MYSTERY    OF   'MAHBIN    MILL. 

had  got  away  on  none  of  the  regular  trains  that  week, 
but  one  bright  fellow  had  learned  that  four  cars  full 
of  troops  had  passed  west  late  that  Sunday  night,  and 
followed  the  clue.  They  had  gone  through  to  Bis- 
marck— a  tedious  journey  in  '76 — and  thither  he  fol- 
lowed. Thence  the  troops  had  gone  by  boat  up  the 
Missouri,  and  he  took  the  first  opportunity  that  came 
— and  the  next  boat  going  up.  At  Fort  Buford  he 
"sighted"  his  man,  told  his  story  to  the  commanding 
officer  of  the  post,  who  sent  for  the  officers  of  the 
troops  with  whom  poor  Dick  was  serving.  They 
promptly  asserted  that  their  first  knowledge  of  him 
wras  on  the  Monday  they  reached  St.  Paul,  when  a  ser- 
geant brought  him  to  them,  saying  he  begged  to  be 
allowed  to  enlist  and  go  with  them.  He  told  a  per- 
fectly straight  story  ;  said  he  was  an  orphan,  unmar- 
ried, had  been  a  miller,  but  was  tired  of  small  wages, 
hard  work,  and  no  hopes  of  getting  ahead,  and  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  get  into  the  regulars.  Was  at 
the  railway  station  at  midnight  when  the  train  was 
side-tracked  to  allow  another  to  pass,  and  appealed  to 
the  sergeant  of  the  guard  to  take  him  along  ;  said  he 
would  pay  his  way  until  they  could  enlist  him,  and 
as  he  was  a  likely  fellow  they  were  glad  to  have  him. 
He  had  won  everybody's  respect  in  the  short  time  he 
was  with  them,  and  the  whole  command  seemed  thun- 
derstruck to  hear  of  the  allegations  against  him. 

The  detective  and  his  prisoner  were  put  on  a  boat 
going  back  to  Bismarck,  and  on  that  same  boat,  re- 
turning, wounded  and  furloughed,  was  a  sergeant  of 
the  Seventh  Cavalry — a  gallant  fellow  who  had  fought 


251 

under  Benteen  and  McDougall  on  the  bluffs  of  the 
Little  Horn,  after  Ouster's  command  had  been  sur- 
rounded and  slaughtered  four  miles  farther  down 
stream.  The  sergeant  kept  to  his  room  and  bunk 
until  they  got  to  Bismarck,  but  the  detectives  had  a 
chance  to  see  and  talk  with  him — and  so  had  Graham. 

It  was  an  eventful  day  when  the  detective  and  his 
prisoner  reached  Nemahbin.  The  minister  was  there 
to  meet  him,  as  was  Mr.  Lowrie,  and  the  entire  male 
population  of  the  neighborhood.  There  was  no  dis- 
order or  turbulence.  Dick  was  quietly  escorted  to  a 
room  in  the  constable's  house — they  had  no  jail — and 
there  that  night  he  had  a  long  conference  with  the 
minister  and  other  prominent  citizens.  The  minister 
drove  home  quite  late — but  very  much  later,  along 
towards  two  in  the  morning,  in  fact,  he  was  at  the 
railway  station  and  received  in  his  buggy  the  single 
passenger  who  alighted  from  the  night  express. 

Next  day  there  was  a  gathering  at  the  mayor's  of- 
fice— an  apartment  in  the  municipal  residence  devoted 
to  dining-room  duty  three  times  a  day,  and  opening 
into  the  kitchen  on  the  one  hand,  into  the  hallway  on 
another,  and  into  the  village  post-office  on  the  third. 
Here  sat  Mr.  Lowrie,  the  doctor,  the  constable,  other 
local  celebrities,  and  one  or  two  distinguished  impor- 
tations from  Milwaukee.  Here  was  the  minister,  look- 
ing singularly  wide-awake,  lively,  and  brisk  for  a  man 
who  had  been  up  all  night  ;  here,  too,  sat  the  farm- 
hand who  sent  the  cabalistic  despatch  when  Frost 
went  to  Chicago,  and  the  young  man  who  heard  the 
conversation  down  at  the  mill  that  Sunday  night ; 


252  THE   MYSTEKY    OF    'jMAHBIN    MILL. 

here,  too,  sat  Dick,  looking  pale  but  tranquil,  and 
hither,  too,  presently  came  Mr.  Frost,  looking  ghastly 
pale  and  very  far  from  tranquil.  Dick  looked  square- 
ly at  him  as  he  entered,  but  Frost  glanced  rapidly 
about  the  room,  eagerly  nodding  to  one  man  after  an- 
other, but  avoiding  Dick  entirely.  Then  followed  an 
impressive  silence. 

Outside,  the  August  sun  was  streaming  hotly  down 
upon  the  heads  of  an  intensely  curious  and  interested 
throng  ;  inside  there  was  for  the  moment  no  sound 
but  the  humming  of  a  thousand  flies,  or  the  nervous 
scraping  of  a  boot  over  the  uncarpeted  floor.  Then 
the  mayor  whispered  a  few  words  to  the  minister, 
who  nodded  to  Mr.  Morrow,  the  surviving  brother, 
and  then  Mr.  Morrow  stepped  into  the  hallway  lead- 
ing to  the  mayor's  parlor,  and  presently  reappeared  at 
the  doorway,  and  quietly  said,  "All  right." 

All  eyes  turned  to  glance  at  him  at  this  moment, 
but,  beyond  his  square,  squat  figure,  nothing  in  the 
darkened  hallway  was  visible.  Then  the  mayor  cleared 
his  throat  and  began  : 

"  By  the  consent  of  the  proper  authorities  the  pris- 
oner, accused  of  the  murder  of  the  late  Samuel  Mor- 
row, has  been  brought  here  instead  of  to  the  county 
town,  for  reasons  that  will  appear  hereafter.  Graham, 
you  have  desired  to  hear  the  evidence  of  Mr.  Frost, 
one  of  the  principal  witnesses  against  you  at  the  time 
of  the  discovery  of  the  murder.  The  clerk  will  now 
read  it." 

And  read  it  the  clerk  did,  in  monotonous  singsong. 
Graham  sat  clinching  his  fists  and  his  teeth,  and  look- 


THE    MYSTERY    OF    'MAHBIN   MILL.  253 

ing  straight  at  Frost  as  the  reading  was  finished.  The 
latter,  uneasily  shifting  in  his  chair,  still  looked  any- 
where else  around  the  room. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  say  anything,  Graham  ?"  asked 
the  mayor,  in  answer  to  the  appeal  in  Dick's  eyes. 

"  I  do,  sir.  That  statement  is  a  lie  almost  from  be- 
ginning to  end.  I  had  no  quarrel,  no  words  with  Mr. 
Morrow  that  Sunday  evening — never  spoke  to  him  at 
all.  It  was  Frost  himself  who  was  with  him  at  the 
mill  before  supper.  As  to  the  rest  of  the  evening  I 
know  nothing  of  what  happened.  When  I  got  home, 
and  put  up  the  horse  and  buggy,  it  must  have  been 
long  after  ten.  Then  I  found  the  east  door  of  the 
mill  was  open,  and  went  in  and  found  everything  dark 
and  quiet ;  came  out  and  locked  the  door  (but  never 
went  into  the  office),  and  took  the  key  up  to  the  mill- 
house,  and  hung  it  up  on  the  hook  in  the  hall.  I  sup- 
posed Mr.  Morrow  was  asleep  in  bed.  Then  I  went 
home  and  burned  some  old  letters  and  papers  and 
packed  some  things  in  my  bag.  I  was  going  away 
for  good — I've  told  the  doctor  and  the  minister  why 
— they  know  well  enough — and  I  called  Frost ;  he 
owed  me  twenty  dollars,  and  I  needed  it,  and  woke 
him  up,  if  he  was  asleep,  and  asked  him  for  it,  and  the 
very  money  he  gave  me  was  in  those  five-dollar  bills. 
I  never  burned  my  overalls.  I  did  lose  my  handker- 
chief somewhere  about  the  house  that  night,  and  never 
missed  it  until  I  was  gone  ;  and  I  never  had  my  re- 
volver until  just  before  I  took  my  bag  and  started, 
and  never  knew  until  days  afterwards — way  up  the 
Northern  Pacific — that  one  of  the  chambers  was  emp- 


254  THE    MYSTERY    OF    'MAHBIN    MILL. 

tied.  As  for  the  murder,  I  never  heard  of  it  until  I 
was  arrested." 

"  Mr.  Frost,"  said  the  mayor,  "  you  made  no  men- 
tion in  your  evidence  of  paying  money  to  the  pris- 
oner." 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Frost,  promptly,  but  his  eyes 
glittered,  and  his  face  was  white  as  a  sheet.  "  Noth- 
ing of  the  kind  happened.  That  money  came  direct 
from  the  mill  safe." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?" 

"  Well — of  course — I  don't  know  that ;  but  it  is  my 
belief." 

"  Mr.  Frost,  there  was  no  mention  in  your  testimony 
of  a  violent  altercation  between  yourself  and  the  late 
Mr.  Morrow  at  the  mill  that  evening  after  Graham 
came  in  town  with  the  ladies.  Why  did  you  omit 
that?" 

He  was  livid  now,  and  the  strong,  white  hands  were 
twitching  nervously.  All  eyes  were  fastened  upon 
him  as  he  stood  confronting  the  mayor,  his  back  tow- 
ards the  hallway,  where,  in  grim  silence,  stood  Mr. 
Morrow. 

"  I  know  of  no  such  altercation,"  he  stammered. 

"  Were  you  ever  accused  of  being  a  deserter  from 
the  army?" 

Every  one  saw  the  nervous  start  he  gave,  but,  though 
haggard  and  wild,  he  stuck  to  his  false  colors. 

"  Never,  sir." 

"  That's  a  lie,"  said  a  deep  voice  out  in  the  hall, 
and  at  the  unconventional  interruption  there  was  a 
general  stir.  Men  leaned  forward  and  craned  their 


THE    MYSTERY    OF    'MAHBIN   MILL.  255 

necks  to  peer  behind  Mr.  Morrow,  who  stood  there 
immovable. 

"  Order,  gentlemen,  if  you  please,"  said  Mr.  Lowrie. 

"  Then  how  and  where  did  you  know  Sam  Morrow, 
as  you  convinced  his  father  you  did  ?" 

"  I  ? — out  in  Arizona,  where  I  was  mining." 

"  Why  did  you  not  fulfil  your  promise,  as  you  said 
you  could  and  would  ?" 

"I  couldn't.  That  was  what  made  the  old  man 
down  on  me.  I  did  believe  last  winter  I  could  find 
Sam  and  get  him  home,  but  I  could  not  bear  to  tell 
the  old  man  he  was  killed  with  General  Ouster." 

"  That's  another  lie  !"  came  from  the  hallway,  and, 
brushing  past  Mr.  Morrow's  squat  figure,  there  strode 
into  the  room  a  tall,  bronzed-faced,  soldierly  fellow  in 
the  undress  uniform  of  a  sergeant  of  cavalry. 

Men  sprang  to  their  feet  and  fairly  shouted.  Old 
Doctor  Green  threw  his  arms  about  the  soldier's  neck 
in  the  excess  of  his  joy.  There  was  a  rush  forward 
from  the  post-office  doorway  to  greet  him,  a  cry.  of 
"  Sam  Morrow  !"  and  then  another  cry — a  yell — a 
scurry  and  crash  at  the  kitchen  entrance.  "  Quick  ! 
Head  him  off  !  Catch  him  !"  were  the  cries,  and  then 
came  a  dash  into  the  open  air. 

With  a  spring  like  that  of  a  panther  Frost  had 
leaped  into  the  unguarded  kitchen,  thence  to  the  fence 
beyond,  and  now  was  running  like  a  deer  through  the 
quiet  village  street  towards  the  railway.  A  hundred 
men  were  in  pursuit  in  a  moment,  and  in  that  open 
country  there  was  no  shelter  for  skulking  criminal,  no 
lair  in  which  he  could  hide  till  night.  In  half  an 


256  THE    MYSTERY    OF 


hour,  exhausted,  half  dead  with  terror  and  despair, 
the  wretched  man  was  dragged  back,  and  now,  limp 
and  dejected,  cowered  in  the  presence  of  his  accusers. 


CHAPTER  V. 

SAM  MORROW  told  his  story  in  a  few  words.  He 
had  served  in  the  Seventh  Cavalry  for  five  years  un- 
der the  name  of  Samuel  Moore,  and  two  years  before, 
while  with  his  troop  on  the  Yellowstone,  the  man  call- 
ing himself  Frost  was  a  sergeant  in  another  company. 
He  was  only  a  short  time  in  the  regiment,  but  his 
fine  appearance,  intelligence,  and  education  led  to  his 
speedy  appointment  as  sergeant,  and  as  Sergeant  Far- 
rand  he  had  been  for  a  few  months  a  popular  and  re- 
spected man;  but  as  soon  as  they  got  back  to  winter- 
quarters  he  turned  out  to  be  a  gambler,  then  a  swin- 
dler and  card-sharper.  He  lost  the  respect  of  both 
officers  and  men,  got  into  a  gambling-scrape  with  some 
teamsters  in  Bismarck,  was  locked  up  by  the  civil 
authorities,  and,  after  a  series  of  troubles  of  that 
description,  deserted  the  service  in  the  Black  Hills 
the  summer  of  '75,  taking  three  horses  with  him,  and 
that  was  the  last  seen  of  him  until  now.  Sam  had 
been  shot  in  the  arm  in  the  fight  of  the  25th  of  June, 
after  the  Indians  had  butchered  Custer's  part  of  the 
regiment,  and  now,  having  served  out  his  time,  was 
once  more  home,  with  an  honorable  discharge  and  a 
certificate  of  high  character  from  his  officers. 

In  substantiation  of  Sam's  story,  Mr.  Morrow  ex- 


257 

hibited  two  letters  which  he  had  found  among  his 
brother's  papers.  They  were  from  the  adjutant  of 
the  Seventh  Cavalry,  in  reply,  evidently,  to  inquiries 
which  old  Morrow  had  instituted  in  May,  and  the  sec- 
ond one  contained  a  description  of  Frost  as  the  soldier 
Farrand,  which  tallied  exactly. 

"  And  now,  Frost,  what  have  you  to  say  as  to  the 
murder?"  was  the  next  question;  and,  cowering  and 
abject,  the  wretch  sat  with  bowed  head  and  trembling 
limbs,  gasping,  "I  did  not  do  it,  I  did  not  do  it."  But 
this  Nemahbin  would  believe  no  longer.  There  was 
a  wild  cry  of  "  Hang  him !"  from  the  excited  crowd 
in  the  street,  and  then  came  a  scene.  Peaceful  and 
law-abiding  as  had  been  the  community,  it  turned  in 
almost  savage  fury  upon  the  scoundrel  who  had  sought 
to  charge  his  own  crime  upon  an  innocent  and  long- 
respected  citizen.  A  dozen  resolute  men  leaped 
through  the  post-office  to  the  doorway  of  the  inner 
room,  but  there  they  halted.  Between  them  and  the 
cowering  form  of  Frost  stood  the  tall  figure  of  Sam 
Morrow,  his  eyes  ablaze,  his  mouth  set  and  stern,  his 
left  arm  in  a  sling,  but  in  his  right  hand  a  levelled  re- 
volver. 

"  Back,  every  man  of  you  !"  he  said.  "  He  killed 
my  father,  but,  by  God,  it  has  got  to  be  a  fair  trial !" 
Lowrie,  the  doctor,  and  the  detective  were  at  his  back, 
and  Nemahbin  hesitated,  thought  better  of  its  mad 
impulse,  and  retired.  That  night  Frost  lay  behind 
the  prison  bars,  accused  of  an  array  of  crimes,  with  cold- 
blooded murder  as  the  climax,  and  Sam  Morrow,  Dick 
Graham,  and  Nellie  met  once  more  at  the  old  home. 
17 


258  THE    MYSTERY    OF    'MAIIBIN   MILL. 

In  less  than  a  month  Frost's  last  hope  had  gone. 
Whether  his  pluck  and  nerve  had  given  out  entirely, 
whether  the  rapid  accumulation  of  damaging  evidence 
had  made  him  fearful  that  even  hanging  would  be 
too  good  for  him  if  all  his  past  were  "  ferreted  out," 
as  now  seemed  likely,  or  whether  he  hoped,  by  con- 
fession, to  gain  mercy,  is  not  known;  but,  before  his 
trial,  he  made  full  admission  of  his  guilt.  He  had 
come  to  Nemahbin  hoping  to  get  such  a  hold  on  the 
old  man  by  telling  him  he  could  find  Sam  that  he 
would  be  welcomed,  and  allowed  to  prosecute  his  suit 
with  Nellie,  who  was  plainly  fascinated.  If  he  could 
gain  her  love  and  her  hand,  he  might  settle  down,  be 
respectable  on  old  Morrow's  money,  and  then,  even  if 
Sam  did  come  home,  he  would  not  be  apt  to  expose  the 
man  his  sister  loved  and  married.  But  his  efforts  to 
convince  the  old  man  that  he  Was  trying  to  find  Sam, 
while  all  the  time  he  was  doing  all  he  knew  how  to 
keep  him  on  the  wrong  track,  were  at  constant  cross- 
purposes.  The  old  man  soon  became  suspicious  of  him, 
would  advance  him  no  money,  paid  him  a  nominal 
sum  for  keeping  books,  etc.,  the  first  three  months  he 
was  there,  then  relieved  him  of  that  duty,  and  kept 
up  incessant  cross-questioning.  At  last  Frost  found 
out  that  Graham  suspected  him  of  being  a  deserter, 
and  that  the  old  man  had  got  that  idea  and  also  that 
his  own  boy  was  somewhere  in  the  army.  Then  came 
the  news  of  the  Ouster  massacre,  and  by  that  time  he 
felt  sure  he  could  win  Nellie's  hand  if  her  father's 
consent  could  be  gained;  but  Morrow  was  all  suspi- 
cion and  eagerness,  and  Frost  knew  by  his 'manner 


THE   MYSTERY    OF    ?MAHBIN    MILL.  259 

that  be  was  on  the  trail  of  his  lost  boy  by  means  of 
letters — and  these  letters  would  plainly  betray  him, 
who  had  deserted  from  Sam's  own  regiment.  He  hur- 
ried to  Chicago,  and  there — there  he  came  upon  that 
list  of  killed  in  the  battle  of  the  Little  Big  Horn,  and 
among  the  names  was  the  one  he  wanted  to  see,  Ser- 
geant Sam  Moore.  It  decided  him  at  once.  He  went 
to  his  uncle,  claiming  that  he  was  about  to  marry  Nel- 
lie Morrow,  got  from  him  a  small  supply  of  money, 
and  came  back  determined  to  win  her  at  once.  She 
was  the  old  man's  only  child  and  sole  heir.  That 
very  day  Morrow  had  told  him  that  he  had  found  him 
out,  that  in  his  absence  he  had  received  letters  prov- 
ing him  to  be  a  scoundrel,  and,  giving  him  just  one 
chance  to  tell  him  where  his  lost  boy  was  or  to  leave. 
Frost  feared  to  tell  then,  as  he  knew  the  miller  would 
insist  on  proofs,  and  in  some  way  his  own  connection 
with  the  regiment  would  be  known.  That  evening, 
before  tea,  Morrow,  in  an  angry  interview,  which 
Schaffer  partially  overheard,  told  him  he  had  proofs 
of  his  rascality — letters  to  settle  his  case  for  good  and 
all.  Then  he  became  desperate.  Soon  as  Dick  had 
gone  to  town  with  the  ladies  he  went  to  Graham's 
room,  got  the  revolver,  and  once  more  went  to  the 
mill,  and  found  Morrow  at  the  office  door.  It  was 
then  almost  dark.  Then  came  the  accusation  of  de- 
sertion, and,  once  in  the  office,  Morrow  had  called 
him  by  his  soldier  name,  and  Frost  knew  "all  was 
up."  He  must  have  those  papers.  He  drew  the  re- 
volver to  frighten  the  old  man,  and  it  went  off,  kill- 
ing him  instantly.  He  was  horror-stricken,  but  strove 


260  THE    MYSTERY    OF    'MAHBIN   MILL. 

to  collect  himself.  Flight  would  betray  him  at  once 
as  the  murderer.  Why  not  make  it  a  case  of  suicide 
— leave  the  pistol  by  him?  No  —  that  would  not 
do.  It  was  Graham's —  Ha !  why  not  make  Gra- 
ham the  guilty  one?  Quickly  he  got  the  safe  key 
from  the  old  man's  pocket,  unlocked  and  obtained  the 
cash-drawer,  with  its  five  hundred  dollars  in  green- 
backs— opened  the  desk,-  and  rummaged  through  the 
letters  till  he  found  one  from  the  headquarters  of  the 
Seventh  Cavalry,  which  gave  a  description  of  several 
men  almost  his  height  and  general  appearance  who 
had  deserted.  Among  them  he  recognized  his  own 
and  his  soldier  name.  With  these  he  went  to  the  cot- 
tage, leaving  all  dark  at  the  mill,  burned  the  letter, 
hid  portions  of  the  money  in  Graham's  mattress,  and 
was  thinking,  in  terror,  what  to  do  next,  when  he  heard 
voices  on  the  road.  He  dare  not  go  out,  and  so  wasted 
some  time  in  the  house.  When  he  heard  Graham  drive 
back  with  the  buggy  he  hurriedly  undressed  and  went 
to  bed.  Then  Schaffer  came  home  and  he  called  him 
in,  that  the  boy  might  say  that  he  was  in  bed  and  un- 
dressed; but  when  Graham  entered  he  shammed  sleep. 
Roused,  at  last,  by  Graham's  demand  for  his  money 
and  the  news  that  he  was  going  away,  an  idea  occurred 
to  him.  Cutting  a  slit  in  his  finger  with  a  razor,  he  let 
the  blood  fall  on  a  couple  of  five-dollar  bills — smeared 
and  quickly  dried  it — gave  them  to  Graham  before  he 
started,  and  as  soon  as  he  was  gone  went  busily  to 
work.  Going  down  to  the  mill  as  soon  as  satisfied 
that  all  was  safe — Schaffer  asleep  and  Dick  far  on  his 
way  to  the  railroad — he  found  the  east  door  locked. 


THE    MYSTERY    OF    ?MAHBIN    MILL.  261 

Then  he  knew  that  Graham  had  been  there;  had  locked 
the  door  and  taken  the  key  to  the  hall  of  the  mill-house, 
and  of  course  had  seen  nothing  of  the  body.  He  got 
the  key,  obtained  Graham's  overalls  from  the  mill, 
burned  them  in  the  stove  at  the  cottage — as  he  argued 
Dick  could  have  done  had  he  bloodied  them  in  the  af- 
fray— and  then  in  Graham's  room  had  found  his  cam- 
bric handkerchief.  Once  more  he  went  down  to  the 
ghostly  mill,  and  dipped  this  into  the  blood  of  his 
victim;  then  locked  the  mill  door  (he  had  locked  the 
office  door,  leaving  the  key  inside),  put  the  key  back 
in  the  house,  returned  to  the  cottage,  and  to  bed.  He 
had  woven  a  chain  for  Graham  that,  added  to  the  poor 
fellow's  flight  and  his  previous  disagreements,  would 
fasten  all  suspicion  on  him  as  the  murderer.  Then  he 
thought  of  the  money.  He  rose,  bundled  it  loosely 
in  an  old  oyster-can,  stole  out  in  the  gray  light  of  ap- 
proaching dawn,  and  buried  it  in  the  loose  sand  down 
on  the  shore  of  the  mill-pond,  just  where  all  the  cattle 
would  go  for  water,  and  trample  out  all  traces  within 
an  hour;  then  once  more  he  went  back  to  bed,  and  to 
the  counterfeited  sleep  from  which  Schaffer  had  such 
difficulty  in  rousing  him.  It  was  well  planned — and 
when  he  heard  the  boy  declare  he  had  seen  Graham 
coming  from  the  mill  at  11  o'clock  he  thought  it  per- 
fect. 

But  he  had  failed  to  cross  one  track — the  bloody 
print  of  a  slender,  city-made,  shapely  boot  on  the 
flour-dusted  floor  under  the  peg  where  Graham's  over- 
alls generally  hung.  It  was  the  only  footprint  in  that 
corner  of  the  old  mill,  and  Frost's  was  the  only  boot 


262  THE   MYSTEKY    OF    5MAHBIN   MILL. 

in  all  Nemahbin  that  would  fit  it.  Keen  eyes  had 
noted  this  even  while  the  wiseacres  of  the  law  were 
urging  the  pursuit  of  Graham;  and  then  came  the  in- 
exorable watch  on  every  move  that  Frost  might  make. 
Even  without  his  confession,  the  relentless  search  of 
the  detectives  would  have  run  him  down.  And  now 
Dick  Graham  was  free. 

It  wasn't  such  a  mystery,  after  all.  A  greater  one 
was  being  enacted  right  here  in  the  old  mill-house, 
whither  Nellie  had  hurriedly  returned  on  the  tele- 
graphic news  of  Sam's  home-coming.  She  had  sent 
Dick  Graham  sorrowing  to  his  fate  only  a  month  ago. 
She  never  wished  to  see  him  or  speak  to  him  again. 
She  had  twined  her  girlish  hero-worship  around  the 
tall  beauty  of  Mr.  Frost,  and  seen  it  shrivel  with  aver- 
sion in  a  single  day.  And  now,  surrounded  by  the 
halo  of  his  sufferings,  his  self-imposed  exile,  his  years 
of  patient,  uncomplaining,  unswerving  devotion,  here 
was  her  brother's  best  friend,  sharing  with  that  broth- 
er the  admiration  and  homage  of  their  little  village 
circle ;  here  was  her  true  lover,  Dick,  loving,  forgiv- 
ing, unreproaching,  and  yet  unseeking,  and  one  sweet 
August  night,  calm  and  still  and  starlit,  she  stood 
at  the  very  gate  where  he  had  seen  her  parting  with 
Frost  that  dread  Sunday  morning.  And  now  her  lit- 
tle hand  was  trembling  on  his  arm  as  he  would  have 
closed  the  gate  behind  him.  He  felt  the  detaining 
pressure,  and  turned,  gently  as  ever: 

"  What  is  it,  Nellie  ?" 

"  Dick,  will  you  never  forgive  me  for  what  I  said — 
that  night  ?" 


THE    MYSTEKY    OF    'MAIIBIN   MILL.  263 

One  instant  he  could  hardly  speak — hardly  breathe; 
but  then,  slowly,  with  swimming  eyes  and  quivering 
lips,  soft  and  tremulous,  she  looked  up  into  his  radi- 
ant face. 

And  now — eight  years  after — 'Mahbin  Mill  hums 
and  whirs  more  merrily  than  ever.  Dick  Graham  is 
master  and  manager,  for  Sam,  with  a  well-earned  strap 
of  gold-lace  on  each  broad  shoulder,  has  gone  back  to 
the  frontier  life  he  learned  to  love  in  the  old  regiment. 
Frost  languished  but  a  few  months  in  his  prison  before 
death  mercifully  took  him  away,  and  Nellie — Nellie  is 
the  happiest  little  woman  around  Nemahbin  for  miles; 
only  those  two  scamps,  Sam  and  Dick,  seven  and  five 
years  old  respectively,  keep  her  in  a  fidget  and  their 
father  in  a  chuckle  with  their  pranks.  They  are  al- 
ways in  mischief  or  the  mill-pond. 


PLODDEE'S  PKOMOTION. 


FOB  five  years  the  life  of  Second  Lieutenant  Plod- 
der, of  the  — th  Foot,  had  been  a  burden  to  him.  For 
more  than  five  years  Second  Lieutenant  Plodder  had 
been  something  of  a  burden  to  the  — th  Foot.  In  the 
dreary  monotone  in  which  the  psalm  of  life  is  sung, 
or  was  sung,  in  frontier  garrisons  before  the  introduc- 
tion of  such  wildly  diverting  exercises  as  daily  target 
practice,  or  measuring-distance  drill,  the  one  thing  that 
became  universally  detestable  was  the  man  with  the 
perennial  grievance,  and  Mr.  Plodder's  grievance  was 
slow  promotion.  There  was  nothing  exceptionally 
harrowing  in  his  individual  experience  ;  dozens  of 
other  fellows  in  his  own  and  in  other  regiments  were 
victims  of  the  same  malady,  but  for  some  reason  Mr. 
Plodder  considered  himself  the  especial  target  of  the 
slings  and  arrows  of  a  fortune  too  outrageous  for  even 
a  downtrodden  "dough -boy"  to  bear  in  silence,  and 
the  dreary  burden  of  his  song — morn,  noon,  and  night 
— was  the  number  of  years  he  had  served,  and  might 
yet  have  to  serve,  with  never  a  bar  to  his  strap  of 
faded  blue. 

Entering  the  army  as  a  volunteer  in  '61,  he  had 
emerged,  after  four  years  of  singularly  uneventful 
soldiering,  a  lieutenant  in  the  company  in  which  he 


268  PLODDER'S  PROMOTION. 

started  as  private.  Provost-guard  duty  and  the  like 
had  told  but  little  on  the  aggregate  of  present  for 
duty  with  his  command,  and  that  sort  of  campaign- 
ing being  congenial,  Mr.  Plodder  concluded  to  keep 
it  up  as  a  profession.  A  congressional  friend  got 
him  a  second  -  lieutenancy  at  the  close  of  the  war, 
and  the  devil  himself,  said  Mr.  Plodder,  got  him  into 
that  particular  regiment.  "  I  never  saw  such  a  God- 
forsaken lot  of  healthy  fellers  in  my  life,"  he  was 
wont  to  declare  over  the  second  or  third  toddy  at 
"  the  store "  in  the  long  wintry  evenings.  "  There 
ain't  a  man  of  'em  died  in  six  years,  and  here  I  am 
after  nigh  onto  twelve  years'  consecutive  service,  and 
I  ain't  a  first  lieutenant  yit." 

We  youngsters,  with  our  light  hearts  and  lighter 
pockets,  used  to  rather  enjoy  getting  old  Plodder 
started,  it  must  be  confessed  ;  and  when  pin-pool  or 
auction-pitch  had  palled  in  interest,  and  we  would  be 
casting  about  for  some  time-killing  device,  and  the 
word  would  come  from  the  window,  scattering  the 
group  of  oldsters,  that  Plodder  was  on  his  way  to  the 
store,  somebody  would  be  apt  to  suggest  a  project  for 
"  putting  up  a  job  on  Grumpy,"  and  it  would  be  car- 
ried nem.  con. 

"  Heard  the  news,  Plod  ?"  some  young  reprobate 
would  carelessly  inquire  while  banging  the  balls  about 
the  table. 

"  What  news  ?"  says  Plodder. 

"  You're  in  for  a  file.  They  say  old  Cramps  is 
going  to  die.  He's  off  on  leave  now." 

"  Who  says  so  ?"  says  Plodder,  eying  his  interloc- 


269 

utor  askance.  He  is  always  suspicious  of  the  young- 
sters. 

"  Fact,  Plodder.  Ask  the  major,  if  you  don't  be- 
lieve me." 

And  before  long  Plodder  would  be  sure  to  make 
his  way  into  the  inner  court — the  sanctum  sanctorum 
of  the  store — sacred  ordinarily  to  the  knot  of  old  offi- 
cers who  liked  to  have  their  quiet  game  aloof  from 
the  crash  of  pool-pins  and  the  babel  of  voices  in  the 
main  room,  and  there,  after  more  or  less  beating  round 
the  bush,  he  would  inquire  as  to  whether  the  major 
had  recently  heard  news  of  old  Captain  Cramps,  and 
what  was  the  state  of  his  health ;  returning  then  to 
the  billiard-room  with  wrath  and  vengeance  in  his 
eye,  to  upbraid  his  tormentor  for  sending  him  off  on 
such  a  cruel  quest. 

"  Well,  what  did  you  go  for  ?"  would  be  the  extent 
of  his  comfort.  "  I  only  said  Cramps  was  going  to 
die,  and  it's  my  profound  conviction  he  will — some 
time  or  other." 

And  Plodder  would  groan  in  spirit,  "  It's  all  very 
well  for  you  youngsters,  but  just  you  wait  till  you've 
served  as  long  as  I  have,  twelve  years'  consecutive 
service,  by  George  !  and  if  you  don't  wish  lineal  pro- 
motion would  come  in,  or  the  grass  was  growing  green 
over  every  man  that  ever  opposed  it,  you  can  stop  my 
pay." 

It  got  to  be  a  serious  matter  at  last.  It  was  Plod's 
monomania.  We  used  to  swear  that  Plod  spent  half 
his  time  moaning  over  the  army  register,  and  that  his 
eyes  were  never  fixed  upon  the  benevolent  features 


270 

of  his  captain  but  that  he  was  wondering  whether 
apoplexy  would  not  soon  give  him  the  longed-for  file. 
Every  week  or  two  there  would  come  tidings  of  deaths, 
dismissals,  resignations,  or  retirements  in  some  other 
corps  or  regiment,  and  second  lieutenant  so-or-so  would 
become  first  lieutenant  vice  somebody  else,  and  on 
such  occasions  poor  old  Plod  would  suffer  the  tor- 
tures of  the  damned.  "  There's  that  boy,"  he  would 
say,  "  only  two  years  out  of  that  national  charity 
school  up  there  on  the  Hudson,  in  leading-strings,  by 
George!  when  we  fellers  were  fightin'  andbleedin'  an — " 

"  Hello,  Plod  !  I  forgot  you  fought  and  bled  in  the 
provost-guard.  Where  was  it,  old  man  ?  Take  a  nip 
and  tell  us  about  it,"  some  one  would  interpose,  but 
Plodder  would  plunge  ahead  in  the  wild  recitative  of 
his  lament,  and  the  floor  would  be  his  own. 

Tuesday  evenings  always  found  him  at  the  store. 
The  post-trader's  copy  of  the  Army  and  Navy  Journal 
arrived  soon  after  retreat,  and  it  was  one  of  the  un- 
written laws  of  the  establishment  that  old  Plod  should 
have  first  glimpse.  There  had  been  a  time  when  he 
resorted  to  the  quarters  of  brother-officers  and  pos- 
sessed himself  of  their  copy,  but  his  concomitant  cus- 
tom of  staying  two  or  three  hours  and  bemoaning  his 
luck  had  gradually  been  the  means  of  barring  him  out, 
and,  never  having  a  copy  of  his  own  (for  Plodder  was 
thrifty  and  "  near"),  he  had  settled  into  the  usurpation 
of  first  rights  with  "Mr.  O'Bottle's"  paper,  and  there 
at  the  store  he  devoured  the  column  of  casualties 
with  disappointed  eyes,  and  swallowed  grief  and  tod- 
dy in  "consecutive"  gulps. 


PLODDER'S  PROMOTION.  271 

It  used  to  be  asserted  of  Plodder  that  he  was  fig- 
uring for  the  Signal  Corps.  He  was  at  one  time  gen- 
erally known  as  "  Old  Probabilities  ;"  indeed,  it  had 
been  his  nickname  for  several  years.  He  was  accused 
of  keeping  a  regular  system  of  "indications"  against 
the  names  of  his  seniors  in  rank,  and  that  godless 
young  reprobate  Trickett  so  far  forgot  his  reverence 
for  rank  as  to  prepare  and  put  in  circulation  "Plod- 
der's Probabilities,"  a  Signal  Service  burlesque  that 
had  the  double  effect  of  alienating  that  gentleman's 
long-tried  friendship  and  startling  into  unnatural  blas- 
phemy the  staid  captains  who  figured  in  the  bulletin. 
Something  in  this  wise  it  ran  (and  though  poor  fun 
at  best,  was  better  than  anything  we  had  had  since 
that  wonderful  day  when  "  Mrs.  Captain  O'Rorke  av 
ye  plaze"  dropped  that  letter  addressed  to  her  friend 
"Mrs.  Captain  Sullivan,  O'Maher  Barrix")  : 

"PLODDER'S  PROBABILITIES. 

"  For  Captain  Irmn. — Higher  living  together  with  lower  ex- 
ercise. Cloudy  complexion,  with  temperament  choleric  veer- 
ing to  apoplectic.  Impaired  action  followed  by  fatty  degen- 
eration of  the  heart. 

"For  Captains  Prime  and  Chipsey. — Barometer  threatening. 
Squalls  domestic.  Stocks  lower.  Putler  and  Soaker  bills  fall- 
ing (due  N.E.,  S.,  and  W.)  from  all  parts  of  the  country. 

"For  Lieutenant  Cole,  R. Q.M.— Heft  increasing.  Nose  and 
eyelids  turgid.  Frequent  (d)rains,  Sp.  Fru.  Heavy  shortage 
C.  and  G.  E.,  S.  T.  187(-)X. 

"Cautionary  Signals  for  Burroughs,  Calvin,  and  Waterman. 
Something  sure  to  turn  up." 

We  were  hard  up  for  fun  in  those  days,  and  even 


272 

this  low  order  of  Avit  excited  a  high  degree  of  hilari- 
ty. The  maddest  men  were  Prime,  Chipsey,  and  the 
R.Q.M.,  but  their  wrath  was  as  nothing  compared  with 
the  blaze  of  indignation  which  illuminated  the  coun- 
tenances of  Mrs.  Prime  and  Mrs.  Chipsey,  next-door 
neighbors  and  bosom  friends  as  feminine  friendships 
go.  Each  lady  in  this  instance  was  ready  to  acknowl- 
edge the  pertinence  of  Mr.  Trickett's  diagnosis  in  the 
case  of  her  neighbor's  husband,  and  confidentially  to 
admit  that  there  was  even  some  justification  for  the 
allegation  of  "squalls  domestic"  next  door,  but  that 
anything  of  this  sort  should  be  even  hinted  at  in  her 
own  case,  nothing  but  utter  moral  depravity  on  the 
part  of  the  perpetrator  could  account  for  it.  Trickett 
paid  dear  for  his  whistle,  but  for  the  time  it  seemed 
to  hold  Plodder  in  check.  The  ruling  passion  soon 
cropped  out  again,  however.  Gray  hairs  were  begin- 
ning to  sprinkle  his  scanty  beard,  and  crow's-feet  to 
grow  more  deeply  under  his  suspicious  eyes.  He  never 
looked  at  a  senior  without  a  semi-professional  scrutiny 
of  that  senior's  physical  condition  as  set  forth  in  the 
clearness  of  his  eye  or  skin.  He  never  shook  hands 
without  conveying  the  impression  that  he  was  reach- 
ing for  a  man's  pulse.  If  any  old  officer  were  men- 
tioned as  going  off  on  "surgeon's  certificate"  to  visit 
the  sea -shore,  and  the  question  should  be  asked, 
"  What's  the  matter  with  him  ?"  the  interrogated 
party  invariably  responded,  "  Don't  know.  Ask  Plod- 
der." 

It  was  not  only  in  the  regiment  that  Plodder  became 
a  notoriety.     For  one  eventful  year  of  its  history  tho 


PLODDER'S  PROMOTION.  273 

— th  Foot  was  stationed  in  close  proximity  to  depart- 
ment headquarters,  and  department  headquarters  be- 
came speedily  and  intimately  acquainted  with  Mr. 
Plodder.  Having  once  made  his  calls  of  ceremony 
upon  the  commanding  general  and  his  staff,  it  became 
his  custom  to  make  frequent  visits  to  the  city,  and, 
passing  beyond  the  established  haunts  where  his  com- 
rades were  wont  to  dispense  for  creature  comforts 
their  scanty  dimes,  to  spend  some  hours  pottering 
about  the  offices  at  headquarters.  But  for  a  month 
no  one  really  fathomed  the  object  of  his  attentions. 
"Trying  to  get  a  soft  detail  in  town"  was  the  theory 
hazarded  by  some  of  the  youngsters,  who  were  well 
aware  of  his  distaste  for  company  duty  ;  "  Boning 
for  aide-de-camp,"  suggested  another.  But  not  until 
the  medical  director  one  day  explosively  alluded  to 
him  as  "  that old  vampire-bat,"  with  an  uncom- 
plimentary and  profane  adjective  in  place  of  the , 

and  the  acting  judge-advocate  of  the  department  im- 
pulsively asked  if  "  that  infernal  Mark  Meddle  couldn't 
be  kept  at  home,"  did  it  begin  to  dawn  on  us  what 
old  Plodder  really  was  driving  at.  His  theory  being 
that  army  casualties  could  be  divided  up  pretty  evenly 
between  the  Medical  Department  and  the  Bureau  of 
Military  Justice  as  the  expediting  means,  he  hoped 
by  ingenious  engineering  of  the  conversation  to  pick 
up  points  as  to  probabilities  in  the  — th  Foot,  or  to 
furnish  such  as  might  be  lacking. 

In  plain  words,  it  transpired  about  this  time  that 
Plodder  had  taken  to  haunting  the  office  of  the  judge- 
advocate  at  hours  when  he  could  hope  for  uninter- 
18 


274 

rupted  conversation  with  that  officer,  and  one  day, 
with  very  ruffled  demeanor,  he  was  encountered  making 
hurried  exit  therefrom,  pursued,  said  Mr.  Trickett, 
by  the  toe  of  the  judge-advocate's  boot.  Indeed,  Mr. 
Trickett  was  not  far  wrong.  He  and  his  now  recon- 
ciled captain  were  about  calling  upon  the  judge-advo- 
cate when  Plodder  burst  forth,  and  surely  there  was 
every  symptom  of  a  wrathful  intent  in  the  attitude 
of  the  staff-officer  whom  they  met  at  the  door.  It  was 
a  minute  or  so  before  he  could  recover  his  composure, 
though  he  politely  invited  them  to  enter  and  be  seated. 
No  explanation  was  vouchsafed  as  to  what  had  oc- 
curred, but  Trickett  and  Prime  came  back  to  barracks 
full  of  speculation  and  curiosity,  told  pretty  much 
everybody  what  they  had  seen,  and,  all  being  con- 
vinced that  Plodder  and  the  judge-advocate  had  had 
some  kind  of  a  row,  it  was  determined  to  draw  Plod- 
der out.  Consequently  there  was  a  gathering  in  the 
billiard-room  that  night,  and  when  Plodder  entered, 
with  visage  of  unusual  gloom,  he  ought  to  have  been 
put  on  his  guard  by  the  unexpectedly  prompt  and 
cheery  invites  to  "take  something"  that  greeted  him. 
But  Plodder  had  been  taking  several  somethings  in  the 
privacy  of  his  quarters,  and,  being  always  ready  to  par- 
take at  somebody  else's  expense,  he  was  speedily  primed 
into  talkative  mood,  and  then  the  inquisition  began. 

"  Saw  you  coming  out  of  Park's  office  to-day,"  said 
Prime.  "  What  was  your  hurry  ?" 

No  answer  for  a  moment,  then  a  rather  sulky  growl, 
"I'd  finished  my  business,  and  thought  you  might 
want  to  see  him." 


275 

"  I  ?  Lord,  no  !  What  should  I  want  to  see  him 
for  except  socially  ?" 

•No  answer. 

"  Nice  fellow,  Park,"  said  Trickett ;  "  seems  such 
a  calm,  self -poised  sort  of  man,  you  know." 

"  One  of  the  most  courteous  men  I  ever  met,"  said 
Waterman. 

Then  the  others  joined  in  with  some  kind  of  trans- 
parent adulation  of  the  official  referred  to,  all  keeping 
wary  eyes  on  Plodder,  who  at  last  burst  forth, 

"  You  all  can  think  what  you  like.  My  idea  is,  he's 
no  gentleman." 

Of  course  Plodder  was  assailed  with  instant  de- 
mands to  explain  his  meaning.  Everybody  was  amazed ; 
but  Plodder  would  only  shake  his  head  and  mutter 
that  he  knew  what  he  was  talking  about.  Nobody 
could  tell  him  what  constituted,  a  gentleman.  Park 
wasn't  one  anyhow,  and  all  hopes  for  light  upon  that 
interview  were  for  the  moment  dashed ;  but  a  day  or 
two  more  brought  everything  out  in  startling  colors, 
when  it  was  announced  that  Lieutenant  Calvin,  who 
had  been  commanding  a  detachment  "up  the  coun- 
try," was  ordered  to  return  and  explain  certain  alle- 
gations that  had  been  brought  to  the  notice  of  the 
regimental  commander.  Plodder's  cautionary  signal 
had  been  hoisted  to  some  purpose  after  all. 

It  seems  that  being  cut  off  from  congenial  society, 
and  having  no  associates  with  whom  to  while  away 
the  weary  hours  of  his  detached  service,  Lieutenant 
Calvin  had  sought  solace  in  the  flowing  bowl,  had 
become  involved  in  a  quarrel  with  some  rather  hard 


276  PLODDER'S  PROMOTION. 

cases  among  the  citizens,  and  in  some  mysterious  way 
the  matter  had  reached  headquarters.  Calvin  was  on 
a  sort  of  probation  at  the  time,  for  his  conduct  o*n 
some  previous  occasions  had  given  great  cause  for 
complaint  to  his  colonel,  and  that  officer  had  now  re- 
ceived a  note  from  headquarters  on  the  subject  of 
Calvin's  recent  misdemeanor,  and  felt  himself  called 
upon  to  investigate.  This  note  had  come  three  days 
before  the  date  of  Plodder's  last  visit  to  town,  and 
the  colonel  had  communicated  its  contents  to  no  one 
but  his  adjutant,  and  yet  it  was  known  throughout 
the  garrison  on  the  day  after  Plodder's  visit  that  Mr. 
Calvin  was  to  be  overhauled,  and  the  colonel  decided 
to  inquire,  among  other  things,  how  it  became  so 
speedily  known. 

"  I  would  prefer  to  have  some  officer  sent  from  else- 
where to  relieve  him,"  he  had  said  to  the  command- 
ing general  in  presence  of  the  judge-advocate.  "  It 
will  then  create  no  talk  or  speculation  at  the  barracks 
before  he  comes." 

"  It  is  known  there  already,"  said  the  judge-advocate. 

"Most  extraordinary!"  said  the  colonel.  "I  don't 
see  how  that  could  be  and  I  not  know  it."  And,  in- 
deed, there  were  very  few  matters  on  which  he  was 
not  fully  informed. 

"  It  is  so,  nevertheless,"  said  the  staff-officer.  "  One 
of  your — a — subalterns — a  gentleman  with  whom  I 
have  very  slight  acquaintance,  came  to  me  to  tell  me 
about  it,  as  he  expressed  it,  yesterday." 

Then  the  colonel  insisted  upon  hearing  the  whole 
story,  and  it  came  out.  It  seems  that  after  one  or  two 


277 

somewhat  embarrassed  visits,  Mr.  Plodder  had  suc- 
ceeded in  finding  the  judge-advocate  alone  on  the  pre- 
vious afternoon,  had  then  drawn  his  chair  close  to  that 
officer's  desk,  and,  very  much  to  his  surprise,  had  bent 
forward,  and  in  confidential  tone  had  remarked,  "  Say, 
I  want  to  tell  you  about  Calvin,"  and  before  the  as- 
tonished judge-advocate  could  well  interrupt  him  he 
had  rushed  through  a  few  hurried  sentences  descrip- 
tive of  the  affair  in  which  Calvin  was  involved,  and 
looked  up  in  very  great  astonishment  when  the  judge- 
advocate  suddenly  checked  him. 

"  One  moment,  Mr.  Plodder.  I  do  not  understand 
the  object  of  this  narrative.  Have  you  come  to  make 
an  official  complaint  of  Mr.  Calvin's  conduct?  I  am 
not  the  person.  Your  colonel — " 

"Oh,  no,  no.  You  don't  understand,  :  interrupted 
Mr.  Plodder.  "I  don't  want  to  appear  in  the  matter 
at  all ;  but  you  see  I  happen  to  know — " 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  have  come  to  me 
to  give  confidential  information  about  an  officer  of 
your  regiment  ?"  burst  in  the  judge-advocate  with 
growing  wrath. 

"  I  thought  you  ought  to  know,"  said  Plodder,  sulk- 
ily. "  You  have  charge  of  the  court-martial  business, 
and  I  s'pose  charges  are  to  be  preferred — " 

"  And  you  want  to  appear  as  a  witness,  do  you  ?  or 
do  you  mean  to  prefer  additional  charges,  or — what 
the  devil  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  No,  Pm  not  a  witness,"  exclaimed  Plodder,  has- 
tily. "  I  just  thought  you  ought  to  know  about  this, 
you  see,  and  all  you've  got  to  do  is  to  write  to  so-and- 


278 

so,  and  so-and-so.  They  were  there  and  saw  it.  Oh, 
no,  I  don't  want  to  appear  at  all." 

"  In  plain  words,  then,  Mr.  Plodder,  you  came  here 
as  a  tale-bearer,  and  expect  me  to  treat  you  like  a  gen- 
tleman," said  the  judge-advocate,  rising  in  wrath  and 
indignation,  while  Mr.  Plodder  sat  gazing  at  him  in 
pained  surprise.  "  By  G — gulp,  sir,  I  did  not  suppose 
the  uniform  had  got  so  low  as  that.  Go  to  your  colonel, 
if  you  want  to  tattle,  sir;  don't  come  to  me.  There's 
the  door,  Mr.  Plodder;  there's  the  door,  sir."  And  in 
utter  amaze  the  gentleman  of  nigh  on  to  twelve  years' 
consecutive  service  slipped  out  into  the  hall  as  rue- 
fully ruffled  in  spirit  as  though  he  had  been  kicked 
thither.  It  was  there  he  encountered  Prime  and  Trick- 
ett,  and  it  was  in  this  shape  that  the  interview  was 
eventually  made  known  to  the  regiment,  but  not  until 
some  time  after — not  until  the  grand  evolution  of  a 
pet  and  long-projected  scheme.  Then  it  was  that  this 
experience  of  Plodder's  was  told,  with  many  unflatter- 
ing comments;  and  so  it  happened  that  not  one  grain 
of  sympathy  was  felt  for  him  in  the  moment  of  his 
most  supreme  dejection  —  the  crowning  disappoint- 
ment of  his  life. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  "  years  of  consecutive  ser- 
vice "  Plodder  actually  saw  a  first-lieutenancy  within 
his  grasp,  and  this  is  how  the  matter  stood. 

Among  a  lot  of  desperately,  hopelessly  healthy 
and  virtuous  captains  and  first-lieutenants  there  ap- 
peared the  unfortunate  Mr.  Calvin,  whose  record  had 
been  somewhat  mottled  in  the  past,  and  who  was  now 
in  a  very  precarious  state.  To  get  him  out  of  the 


279 

way  would  ordinarily  secure  for  Mr.  Plodder  only  a 
step,  for  at  this  moment  he  stood  third  on  the  list  of 
second  lieutenants ;  but  here  was  a  case  of  unusual 
combinations.  The  senior  second  lieutenant  was  at 
that  moment  undergoing  trial  on  charges  that  must 
dismiss  him  from  the  service.  There  was  no  question 
as  to  his  guilt;  indeed,  he  had  hardly  made  any  de- 
fence against  the  allegations.  But,  even  were  he  to 
be  dismissed,  how  was  that  to  help  Plodder  ?  Look  at 

the  list: 

Second  Lieutenants  — ih  Infantry. 

1.  John  B.  Riggs  (in  arrest,  undergoing  trial). 

2.  William  H.  Trainor,  regimental  adjutant. 

3.  Pariah  Plodder. 

The  army  reader  sees  the  scheme  at  a  glance.  With 
Riggs  dismissed,  Trainor  came  to  the  head  of  the  list, 
and  was  entitled  to  immediate  promotion  to  first  lieu- 
tenant, "  he  being  the  adjutant."  This,  then,  made 
old  Plodder  senior  second,  and  now — now,  if  he  could 
only  get  Calvin  out,  there  were  his  bars.  Under  these 
circumstances,  Plodder  was  not  the  man  to  hesitate. 
Knowing  Calvin's  weakness,  he  had  "kept  an  eye  on 
him;"  had  obtained,  through  some  mysterious  corre- 
spondent, details  of  his  proceedings  at  his  post  of  iso- 
lation, and  it  was  not  long  before  it  began  to  be  sus- 
pected that  it  was  he  who  inspired  the  rumors  that 
appeared  in  the  local  papers,  and  so  drew  the  atten- 
tion of  the  authorities  to  Calvin's  offence. 

Well,  Calvin  came  in,  had  an  interview  with  his 
colonel,  who  was  stern  and  non-committal.  Calvin 
protested  that  his  offence  had  been  grievously  exag- 


280 

gerated.  Britton,  who  took  his  place  up  the  country, 
swore  that  the  best  citizens  up  there  came  in  to  speak 
in  high  terms  of  Calvin.  The  men  with  whom  he  had 
had  the  disturbance  were  rough  characters,  who  had 
purposely  insulted  him,  and  Britton  said  that  he  be- 
lieved the  whole  statement  could  be  traced  to  one  of 
the  enlisted  men,  a  bad  fellow,  whom  Calvin  had  dis- 
ciplined. The  man  was  known  to  be  writing  letters 
frequently,  and  no  one  knew  to  whom  they  were  sent. 
Calvin  behaved  well  around  garrison,  and  the  colonel 
was  divided  in  his  mind.  He  hated  to  prefer  charges 
he  could  not  fully  substantiate,  and  it  was  by  no  means 
certain  that  the  allegations  against  Calvin  could  be  re- 
liably supported,  although  there  was  strong  probabil- 
ity of  their  truth.  Then  it  began  to  be  rumored  about 
the  post  that  the  colonel  was  wavering,  despite  his  firm 
front  against  all  Calvin's  appeals,  and  that  night  Plod- 
der was  observed  to  be  in  a  high  state  of  nervous  ex- 
citement. He  had  a  confidential  interview  with  one 
subaltern,  and  sought  another  with  at  least  one  more, 
but  was  sternly  and  angrily  rebuffed.  "  I  cannot  say 
what  the  matter  was,"  explained  the  offended  young- 
ster, "as  he  made  me  agree  to  regard  his  offer,  as  he 
called  it,  confidential.  But  it  lets  me  out  on  Plodder, 
that's  all." 

The  next  day  Plodder  had  a  long  talk  with  Calvin. 
The  latter  looked  infinitely  depressed  at  its  close,  and 
went  up  to  town  by  permission  of  the  colonel  to  see 
some  legal  friends.  When  night  came  he  did  not  re- 
turn, as  was  understood  to  be  the  arrangement,  and 
the  adjutant,  driving  up  in  the  ambulance  immediately 


281 

after  retreat,  reappeared  at  tattoo,  escorting  Calvin; 
and  Calvin,  perceptibly  intoxicated,  was  conducted  to 
bis  quarters,  and  bidden  tbere  to  abide  in  close  arrest. 

Two  days  more,  and  his  unconditional  resignation 
was  forwarded  "approved"  from  regimental  head- 
quarters, and  a  few  days  later,  sadly  bidding  his  com- 
rades adieu,  Calvin  started  homewards.  "  It  was  no 
use  trying  to  make  a  fight,"  he  said.  "Some  fellow 
had  been  spying  around  up  the  country,  and  had  prej- 
udiced the  colonel,  and  he  told  me  he  meant  to  bring 
up  charges  for  the  old  matter.  I  could  have  stood  up 
against  them  separately,  but  not  collectively;  and  I 
had  no  war  record,  no  friends,  no  influence.  What 
was  the  use  ?  Old  Plodder  gave  me  a  check  for  four 
hundred  dollars,  payable  at  the  First  National  in  Chi- 
cago. I'll  go  back  to  railroading.  Wish  to  God  I'd 
never  left  it  for  soldiering,  anyhow  !"  And  with  that 
he  was  gone,  to  await  at  his  home  the  acceptance  of 
his  tendered  resignation. 

Now  there  was  unexpected  sympathy  for  Calvin  in 
the  regiment.  He  was  a  plain  man,  of  limited  educa- 
tion, who  had  run  an  engine  on  one  of  Tecumseh  Sher- 
man's vitally  important  railways  in  '64,  and  when  his 
train  was  attacked  by  Hood's  horsemen  he  had  fought 
like  a  hero,  had  been  made  an  officer  in  a  regiment 
doing  railway-guard  duty,  and  at  the  end  of  the  war 
a  lieutenant  in  the  regular  infantry.  Being  sociable, 
warm-hearted,  and  weak,  he  had  fallen  into  drinking 
ways,  had  spent  his  money  fast,  and  so  had  fallen  from 
grace.  He  had  long  been  unhappy  and  out  of  his  ele- 
ment in  the  service.  Perhaps  it  was  best  that  he  should 


282 

go  back  to  the  old  life,  where  drink  was  an  impossi- 
bility. 

But  the  wonder  was,  how  could  old  Plodder  bear  to 
spend  four  hundred  dollars  of  his  hoarded  gains  even 
for  the  coveted  file  ?  That  was  not  answered  until 
long  afterwards,  and  really  has  no  place  in  the  imme- 
diate denouement  of  this  plot.  It  might  come  in  hand- 
ily elsewhere.  He  had  given  Calvin  four  hundred  dol- 
lars to  resign  at  once,  and  perhaps  the  colonel  breathed 
freer  at  having  the  case  decided  for  him.  Now  we 
were  all  agog  for  the  result.  It  depended,  of  course, 
upon  Riggs's  sentence. 

Now  Riggs  was  an  anomaly.  He  had  few  friends  in 
the  regiment.  He  was  a  shy,  sensitive,  retiring  sort 
of  fellow — a  man  who  read  a  great  deal,  was  known 
to  be  very  well  informed,  a  man  who  rarely  appeared 
at  the  social  gatherings  at  the  store,  never  played  cards 
or  billiards,  was  civil  and  courteous  to  the  younger  of- 
ficers, but  a  little  surly  to  the  seniors.  He  was  disliked 
by  most  of  the  latter,  and  cordially  hated  by  his  own 
captain.  When  they  sat  on  courts  together,  Mr.  Riggs 
invariably  carried  the  day  in  all  discussions  that  came 
up.  He  knew  more  law  than  any  of  them.  Indeed, 
there  seemed  to  be  no  point  on  which  he  had  not  more 
information  than  all  but  two  or  three  of  his  seniors, 
and  he  rather  delighted  in  drawing  them  out  and  ex- 
posing their  ignorance.  On  the  other  hand,  in  the 
thousand  little  ways  in  which  superior  officers  can  in- 
flict humiliation  upon  their  juniors,  his  own  and  other 
captains  made  him  feel  his  dependent  position,  and 
poor  Riggs,  with  all  his  knowledge,  was  a  very  un- 


283 

happy  man.  He  had  not  a  real  friend,  certainly  not 
an  intimate,  in  the  regiment;  in  fact,  he  incurred  the 
hostility  of  many  of  the  subs  at  the  very  start  by  be- 
ing transferred  from  an  old  regiment  to  near  the  top 
of  the  list  of  this  one  when  the  consolidation  took 
place  in  '71 — a  transfer  that  drove  Mr.  Plodder  nearly 
frantic  at  the  time,  and  laid  the  solid  foundation  of 
his  undying  hate.  Riggs  made  no  attempt  to  concil- 
ate  anybody.  He  never  mentioned  his  past  life  or  ser- 
vices. No  one  knew  his  war  history,  though  it  was 
known  that  he  had  served.  No  one  ever  heard  him 
refer  to  what  he  had  seen  or  experienced.  Yet  the 
few  caustic  comments  with  which  he  occasionally  si- 
lenced Plodder's  reminiscences  amid  an  explosion  of 
laughter  from  the  youngsters  assured  every  one  that 
he  knew  whereof  he  spoke.  He  was  sad,  dreamy  in 
temperament;  some  said  he  took  opium,  all  knew  he 
took  whiskey,  and  a  great  deal  of  it,  though  never 
was  he  known  to  do  or  say  an  unseemly  thing  under 
its  influence.  His  face  would  flush  and  his  speech 
sometimes  thicken,  but  for  a  long  time  that  had  been 
all.  He  was  what  was  called  a  steady  drinker,  and  as 
an  excuse,  his  wife  (and  she  was  a  devoted  little  wom- 
an) was  wont  to  tell  the  ladies  of  the  regiment  who 
ventured  to  allude  to  it  that  Mr.  Riggs  had  a  pulmo- 
nary difficulty,  a  bad  cough,  and  that  his  physicians 
had  prescribed  whiskey. 

Cough  he  certainly  had,  and  at  times  a  very  con- 
sumptive look,  and  as  time  wore  on  he  had  grown 
moody  and  sullen.  Then  came  an  exciting  period  in 
the  history  of  the  regiment.  Several  days  and  nights 


284  PLODDER'S  PROMOTION. 

of  sharp  and  stirring  service  against  rioters  in  the 
streets  of  the  adjoining  city.  Several  days  with  irreg- 
ular food  and  nights  with  irregular  sleep,  and  after 
forty-eight  hours  of  such  experience  Lieutenant  Riggs, 
suddenly  summoned  at  daybreak  by  his  captain  to 
command  a  guard  to  be  sent  to  some  public  build- 
ings, plunged,  stupidly  drunk,  into  plain  sight  of  as- 
sembled officers  and  men,  and  was  sent  back  to  the 
garrison  in  disgrace  and  close  arrest.  This  was  the 
offence  for  which  he  had  just  been  tried.  There  was 
no  hope  for  him  said  the  colonel  and  the  officers  of  the 
regiment.  Dismissal  short  and  sharp  was  the  only 
prospect  before  him.  A  presidential  announcement 
had  but  recently  been  made  that  that  was  the  one 
thing  not  to  be  overlooked  at  an  executive  mansion 
where  dismayed  diplomats  were  compelled  to  struggle 
through  state  dinners  unaided  by  the  accustomed  Cha- 
teau Yquem  and  Pommery  Sec,  and  rushed  away  chilled 
and  alarmed  to  seek  vinous  aid  for  their  offended  stom- 
achs. Riggs  was  ruined,  and  must  expect  to  go. 

But  the  case  had  been  tried  before  a  general  court 
of  considerable  rank,  and  composed  of  officers  from 
other  posts  and  commands.  Only  one  of  the  — th 
Foot  was  on  the  detail.  Admitting  the  facts  alleged 
in  the  specification,  Mr.  Riggs  had  called  upon  one  or 
two  officers,  his  colonel  and  the  major,  for  evidence  as 
to  his  general  character  and  previous  conduct,  and  they 
could  say  nothing  of  consequence  against  him,  and  did 
say  much  that  was  favorable.  When  they  had  retired 
Mr.  Riggs  surprised  the  court  by  calling  upon  one  of 
its  own  members,  an  old  surgeon,  and  subsequently 


PLODDER'S  PROMOTION.  285 

upon  another,  a  veteran  lieutenant-colonel  of  artil- 
lery. 

"  What  in  thunder  could  he  have  wanted  of  them  ?" 
was  the  amazed  inquiry  down  at  the  barracks  that 
evening  when  it  was  there  announced,  and  all  that 
was  said  in  reply  was,  that  they  had  known  him  dur- 
ing the  war.  Next  day  some  important  documentary 
evidence  was  introduced,  and  then,  asking  only  twenty- 
four  hours  in  which  to  write  his  defence,  Mr.  Riggs, 
in  a  voice  that  trembled  with  emotion  and  with  eyes 
that  filled  with  tears  he  strove  in  vain  to  dash  away, 
proceeded  to  address  the  court.  "My  wife  is  very 
ill,  gentlemen,  and  her  anxiety  on  my  account  has  in- 
creased the  trouble.  The  order  convening  the  court 
assigned  the  barracks  as  the  place  of  meeting,  but  it 
was  changed,  very  properly,  to  suit  the  convenience 
of  the  members  who  were  in  the  city.  As  it  is,  I  have 
to  leave  there  early  in  the  morning,  and  be  away  from 
her  all  day.  May  I  ask,  as  a  great  favor,  that  you  ar- 
range to  meet  to-morrow  at  the  old  place  ?  I  can  then 
be  near  her  in  case — in  case — "  Here  he  stopped 
short,  and,  covering  his  face  with  his  hands,  turned 
his  back  upon  the  court. 

The  solemn  silence  was  broken  by  the  voice  of  the 
old  surgeon. 

"  I  know  Mrs.  Riggs,  and  have  known  her  for  years; 
she  is  indeed  very  much  prostrated,  and  I  have  a  note 
from  Dr.  Grant  at  the  barracks  substantiating  what 
Mr.  Riggs  says."  The  judge -advocate  stepped  out 
and  had  a  short  consultation  with  the  adjutant-gen- 
eral of  the  department  in  his  adjoining  office,  and 


286 

when  the  court  adjourned  it  adjourned  to  meet  at 
noon  on  the  following  day  down  at  the  barracks. 

It  was  perhaps  an  hour  after  adjournment  when  the 
judge-advocate  of  the  court,  accompanied  by  one  of 
its  members,  started  out  to  take  a  drive.  Passing  the 
headquarters  building  where  they  had  been  in  session 
during  the  morning,  they  were  surprised  to  see  Lieu- 
tenant Riggs  standing  alone  at  the  doorway  and  gaz- 
ing anxiously  down  the  street. 

"  Why,  I  thought  his  wife  was  so  sick,  and  supposed 
that  he  would  be  on  his  way  to  barracks  by  this  time," 
said  the  member. 

"  And  I,  too;  I  don't  understand  it,"  said  the  junior, 
who  was  driving.  "  At  least,"  he  added,  hesitatingly, 
"he  may  be  waiting  for  the  ambulance.  It's  a  six- 
mile  drive,  and  no  hackman  will  go  there  for  less  than 
a  small  fortune." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment  as  they  trotted 
briskly  along.  Both  the  judge-advocate  and  the  mem- 
ber caught  each  other  in  the  act  of  glancing  back  tow- 
ards the  dim  and  lonely  figure  of  Mr.  Riggs,  and  in 
another  minute  the  younger  officer  pulled  up  his  team. 

"  Major,  you  want  to  go  back  and  see  what's  the 
matter  ?" 

"Yes,  and  so  do  you.  Hold  up  a  minute;  there's 
Coles  now.  He'll  know  about  the  ambulance." 

Reining  in  towards  the  sidewalk,  the  sauntering 
quartermaster  was  hailed,  and  that  somewhat  bulky 
official  stepped  up  to  the  side  of  their  stylish  turn- 
out. 

"Was  the  ambulance  to  take  Riggs  back  to  the 


PLODDER'S  PROMOTION.  287 

post?  He  seems  to  be  waiting  for  something  very 
anxiously,"  said  the  judge-advocate. 

The  quartermaster  started.  "Why,  yes;  I  thought 
it  had  gone  long  ago,  and  had  stopped  below  here 
where  I  met  it.  Captain  and  Mrs.  Breen  and  one  or 
two  others  were  doing  a  little  shopping,  I  reckon." 

"  Meantime  poor  Riggs  is  waiting  to  get  back  to  his 
sick  wife,  and  has  been  waiting  for  an  hour,"  said  the  le- 
gal adviser  of  the  court,  with  an  impatient  crack  of  the 
whip  that  startled  his  spirited  grays  as  they  were 
whirled  about  and  sent  spinning  up  the  street,  leaving 
the  dazed  quartermaster  staring  after  them.  At  head- 
quarters the  team  again  abruptly  pulled  up,  and  its 
driver  called  out,  in  cheery  tones, 

"  Riggs,  we  are  going  out  to  barracks.  Can  we  give 
you  a  lift  ?  It  may  be  some  time  before  that  ambu- 
lance comes  along." 

"  It  was  to  have  been  here  over  an  hour  ago,"  said 
the  infantryman,  slowly.  "I  don't  know  what's  the 
matter,  and  I  could  not  go  in  search  of  it;  my  arrest 
limits  me  to  this  building  when  in  town.  I  hate  to 
trouble  you,  yet  I  ought  to  have  been  home  by  this 
time. 

"Jump  in,  jump  in!  We'll  get  you  there  in  less 
than  no  time,"  exclaimed  both  occupants.  And,  only 
too  willing,  Mr.  Riggs  "leaped  aboard,"  and  they 
sped  away  for  the  outskirts  of  the  city. 

Passing  a  favorite  restaurant,  where  officers  and 
ladies  were  wont  to  rendezvous  when  in  town,  they 
caught  sight  of  the  missing  ambulance. 

"Weren't  you  ordered  to  be  at  headquarters  for 


288  PLODDER'S  PROMOTION. 

Lieutenant  Riggs  at  three  o'clock?"  demanded  the 
judge-advocate  of  the  driver. 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  that  party,  glancing  in  nervous 
embarrassment  over  his  shoulder  at  somebody  in  the 
depths  of  the  vehicle,  "but — " 

A  forage-capped  head  appeared  from  behind  the 
curtain ;  the  benign  features  of  Captain  Breen  slowly 
hove  in  sight,  and  a  smile  of  greeting  spread  there- 
over as  his  eyes  met  those  of  the  staff-officers. 

"Oh,  ah!  Good-afternoon,  colonel.  How  de  do, 
Captain  Park.  Why — yes,  there  was  something  said 
about  going  for  Riggs  when  we  got  through — when 
the  ladies  finished  shopping,  you  know.  I  was  just 
reading  the  evening  paper.  If  you  are  ready,  Riggs, 
I — I'll  hurry  them  out  now,"  said  the  captain,  star- 
tled into  civility  to  the  subaltern  on  seeing  the  distin- 
guished company  in  which  he  drove. 

"  Thanks;  we  won't  trouble  you.  Hup  there  !"  said 
Captain  Park,  dryly  and  energetically,  as  once  more 
the  grays  dashed  off  at  rapid  trot,  and  in  half  an  hour 
Mr.  Riggs  was  landed  in  front  of  his  quarters  in  the 
garrison. 

He  said  very  little  as  he  stepped  from  the  light  road- 
wagon,  but  he  grasped  the  extended  hands  of  the  two 
officers,  and  looked  up  in  their  faces  with  mute  elo- 
quence. The  post  surgeon  happened  along  at  the  mo- 
ment, and  Riggs  turned  eagerly  towards  him. 

"  A  little  easier,  if  anything,"  said  the  doctor,  in  an- 
swer to  the  look  of  anxious  inquiry.  "  Better,  I  think, 
than  she  has  been  for  the  last  two  days.  Your  tele- 
gram cheered  her  a  good  deal." 


PLODDER'S  PROMOTION.  289 

"Excuse  me  now,  will  you,  gentlemen?"  said  the 
lieutenant  to  his  late  conductors.  "You  understand 
my  haste,  and  will  forgive  my  inhospitality  in  not 
asking  you  in.  You — you  don't  know  how  I  thank 
you."  And  with  that  he  was  gone. 

"  Doctor,  what  seems  the  matter  with  Mrs.  Riggs  ?" 
asked  the  judge-advocate,  impetuously. 

"Heart-trouble  mainly.  Any  great  anxiety  tells 
right  there.  She  was  a  very  sick  woman  yesterday. 
Won't  you  stop  at  my  quarters  ?" 

"  Thanks,  no.  We  were  just  out  for  a  drive,  and 
must  get  back." 

Whether  from  motives  of  delicacy,  or  possibly  from 
lack  of  curiosity,  very  few  of  the  older  officers  of  the 
— th  Foot  were  present  in  the  court-room  when  Mr. 
Riggs  read  his  brief  statement  or  defence  on  the  fol- 
lowing day  ;  but  nothing  could  keep  Plodder  away. 
Among  the  group  of  four  or  five  junior  officers  his 
keen  little  eyes  and  eager  face  peered  out,  ferret-like, 
glancing  from  member  to  member  of  the  court  as 
though  he  sought  to  probe  their  inmost  souls.  Brief 
as  it  was,  Riggs  had  written  an  admirable  little  argu- 
ment. He  made  no  accusations,  no  recriminations  ; 
indeed,  he  rather  slightingly  alluded  to  a  portion  of 
the  evidence  which  went  to  show  that  during  the 
forty-eight  hours  preceding  his  offence  he  had  been 
kept  almost  continuously  on  duty  night  and  day, 
while  the  other  company  officer,  his  captain,  slept 
almost  as  continuously.  He  manfully  admitted  his 
guilt,  he  showed  that  never  before  had  he  been  ac- 
cused of  such  an  offence,  and  then,  with  brief  refer- 
19 


290  PLODDER'S  PROMOTION. 

ence  to  the  testimony  of  the  surgeon  and  his  old  di- 
vision commander  of  war  days,  and  the  documentary 
evidence  in  their  possession,  he  threw  himself  upon 
the  mercy  of  the  court. 

The  youngsters  could  not  repress  a  murmur  of  ad- 
miration as  he  closed.  Plodder  with  open  mouth  and 
staring  eyes  looked  around  the  long,  littered  table  like 
a  military  Shylock  imploring  the  fulfilment  of  his 
bond.  His  eyes  brightened  as  the  judge-advocate 
slowly  rose  ;  he  knew  how  trenchant  he  could  be,  at 
least,  and  he  had  confidence  that  his  response  would 
shatter  the  favorable  impression  left  by  Mr.  Riggs's 
defence.  It  was  with  an  almost  audible  gasp  of  dis- 
may that  he  heard  the  next  words  that  broke  the  si- 
lence of  the  court-room.  The  judge-advocate  calmly 
said,  "  The  case  is  submitted  without  remark." 

Not  until  Mr.  Waterman  had  plucked  him  by  the 
coat-sleeve  and  hoarsely  whispered,  "Don't  stand  there 
like  a  stuck  pig,  you  old  idiot.  Court's  cleared,"  could 
Mr.  Plodder  be  made  to  understand  that  all  outsiders 
were  required  to  withdraw  that  the  court  might  pro- 
ceed to  its  deliberation.  Even  at  the  outer  door  he 
again  stopped  and  looked  back,  a  half-formed  project 
taking  root  in  his  bewildered  brain,  and  again  Mr. 
Waterman  unfeelingly  interrupted  him.  "  Come  on, 
Plodder.  D — n  it  all  !  are  you  thinking  of  going  in 
and  haranguing  the  court  yourself  ?"  It  was  in  more 
than  perturbation  that  Plodder  finally  sought  his  quar- 
ters and,  secure  in  his  solitude,  unlocked  and  uncorked 
his  demijohn. 

In  another  hour  the  court  had  adjourned  and  gone 


PLODDER'S  PROMOTION.  291 

its  way.  Issuing  from  the  stuffy  room  over  the  col- 
onel's office,  the  members  had  been  met  by  hospitable 
invitations  to  take  luncheon  here,  there,  and  elsewhere 
about  the  garrison,  and  the  story  of  the  documentary 
and  war  evidence  having  got  around  by  this  time, 
there  was  much  questioning  as  to  its  exact  nature,  and 
much  wonderment  that  it  had  not  been  heard  of  be- 
fore. The  surgeon  had  testified  to  Mr.  Riggs's  having 
been  twice  severely  wounded,  once  at  Shiloh,  again 
at  Chickamauga.  The  artillery  colonel  to  his  having 
twice  noticed  admirable  and  gallant  conduct  in  action, 
which  he  had  praised  in  orders.  The  documentary 
evidence  went  even  further.  Evidently  Riggs's  stock 
was  looking  up.  Of  course  no  member  of  the  court 
could  give  the  faintest  hint  of  the  action  taken,  and 
as  they  finally  drove  away,  and  the  officers  after  even- 
ing parade  were  discussing  the  probable  fate  of  the 
accused,  the  colonel  quietly  put  a  stop  to  speculation 
by  the  remark  made  to  the  second  in  command,  "  He 
pleaded  guilty.  They  had  to  sentence  him  to  dismissal. 
Now  only  the  President  can  save  him.  He  has  no  in- 
fluence, and  the  President  has  just  said  he  would  not 
overlook  such  offences  in  future.  That  settles  it  in 
my  mind." 

That  night,  therefore,  Mr.  Plodder  went  to  bed  half 
full  of  comfort  and  whiskey. 

But  it  was  noticed  that  the  judge-advocate,  Captain 
Park,  had  gone  off  with  the  surgeon  after  the  adjourn- 
ment of  court,  and  while  the  rest  of  the  garrison  were 
at  lunch  he,  with  Dr.  Grant,  had  appeared  at  Riggs's 
door. 


292  PLODDER'S  PROMOTION. 

"  She  has  begged  to  be  allowed  to  see  you,"  the  doc- 
tor had  explained,  "  and  what  she  needs  is  some  little 
word  of  hope.  His  hopefulness  she  fears  is  only  simu- 
lated for  her  sake."  And  nodding  appreciatively  in 
response  to  the  doctor's  significant  glance,  Captain 
Park  was  shown  into  the  plainly  furnished  little  par- 
lor, where,  reclining  in  a  broad  sofa-chair,  propped 
upon  white  pillows,  white  as  her  own  wan  face,  was 
the  fragile  form  of  the  invalid.  He  had  known  her 
only  slightly,  but  her  gentle,  unassuming,  sweet-tem- 
pered ways  had  often  attracted  his  attention,  and  her 
devotion  to  her  husband  was  a  matter  that  had  ex- 
cited the  somewhat  envious  remarks  of  Benedicts  less 
favored.  She  held  out  her  thin  white  hand,  and  looked 
with  glistening  eyes  up  into  the  grave  bearded  face 
that  bent  over  her  in  courteous  greeting  and  kindly 
interest. 

"I  wanted  to  see  you  and  thank  you,"  she  said  in 
her  gentle  voice.  "More  than  once  Mr.  Riggs  has 
spoken  of  your  consideration  and  courtesy  in  all  this 
— this  sad  affair  ;  but  yesterday  he  was  quite  over- 
come. They  did  not  get  back  with  the  ambulance 
until  nearly  seven,  and  all  that  time  he  would  have 
been  kept  waiting,  and  I — " 

"  It  was  a  pleasure  to  me  to  be  of  any  service,"  he 
answered  ;  "but  I  am  grieved  to  see  you  so  prostrat- 
ed, so  ill.  Do  you  know  I — I  think  you  are  worrying 
far  too  much  ?" 

Eagerly  she  glanced  up  into  his  face.  "  Oh,  Cap- 
tain Park  !  I  know  you  cannot  tell  me  the  sentence  ; 
I  know  you  cannot  tell  me  anything  they  have  done, 


PLODDER'S  PROMOTION.  293 

but  I  am  so  torn  with  doubt,  so  unhappy  !  Mr.  Riggs 
seems  so  friendless  here.  No  one  knows  him,  no  one 
understands  him.  Last  night  he  almost  broke  down 
as  he  said  that  in  a  whole  year  yours  was  the  only 
voice  he  had  heard  that  .seemed  to  have  a  ring  of 
friendship  or  sympathy.  His  people  have  written  to 
him  to  come  home.  They  think  he  must  be  dismissed, 
and  have  so  written  to  him  and  to  me.  They  urge  me 
to  come  at  once  and  get  the  little  home  they  offer  in 
readiness,  so  that  he  can  be  induced  to  come  right 
there  if  the  order  is — is  against  us.  I  am  ill,  but  if 
need  be  I  could  go.  I  would  be  glad  to  think  of  hav- 
ing that  little  haven  for  him  in  case  he  were  crushed 
by  this,  but  ought  I  to  go  ?  Ought  I  to  leave  him 
here  alone?  It  will  be  full  three  weeks  or  a  month 
before  we  can  hear  from  Washington,  I  suppose." 

Still  standing,  he  bent  over  her  chair.  "  Shall  I  tell 
you  what  I  think  you  ought  to  do,  at  once  ?"  he  asked, 
almost  smiling.  "I  believe  I  will,  anyway.  It  may 
be  a  very  rude  and  impertinent  thing  to  say,  but  it  is 
my  belief  that  the  best  thing  you  can  do  is  get  well — 
get  well  right  away,  and  be  ready,  you  and  Mr.  Riggs, 
to  take  Christmas  dinner  with  us.  Mrs.  Park  will  be 
back  next  week,  and  I  know  she  will  be  delighted. 
There  !  It  is  nearly  a  month  away  to  be  sure,  but 
that  Will  give  you  abundant  time.  Meanwhile,  of 
course  you  can't  go  home.  Will  you  promise  me, 
Mrs.  Riggs?"  And  the  legal  adviser  held  out  his 
hand,  gave  her  a  cordial  grasp,  and  vanished  before 
she  could  find  one  word  in  which  to  thank  him. 
When  Mr.  Riggs  rejoined  his  wife  she  was  sobbing 


294 

like  a  little  child,  and  yet  there  was  a  world  of  hope 
and  gladness  in  her  swollen  eyes  as  she  gazed  up  into 
his  tired  face  and  drew  it  down  to  her  lips. 

As  for  Captain  Park,  it  was  observed  of  him  that 
he  whistled  with  considerable  cheeriness  on  his  way 
back  to  town,  and  as  he  sat  at  his  desk  that  evening 
completing  the  record  of  the  court.  Some  weeks  after- 
wards, in  speaking  of  the  requirement  that  no  officer 
of  a  court  shall  make  known  its  sentence  except  to  the 
reviewing  authority,  Captain  Park  was  heard  to  mut- 
ter, "  Wonder  if  inviting  a  fellow  to  a  Christmas  din- 
ner would  be  revealing  the  sentence  of  a  court  ?"  and 
somebody  present  replied,  "  How  could  it  be  ?" 

And  yet  Mrs.  Riggs  was  gaining  health  and  spirits 
with  every  day,  and  Mr.  Riggs,  though  still  confined 
to  the  garrison  in  arrest,  was  serenely  enjoying  life  in 
her  society. 

Three  weeks  later  a  brace  of  orders  arrived  from 
the  War  Department,  and  there  was  uproar  and  ex- 
citement among  the  youngsters  in  the  — th  Foot. 
Full  information  of  course  preceded  the  official  an- 
nouncement, but  the  very  enlisted  men  grinned  with 
delight  when  those  orders  were  read  on  parade,  for 
the  story  of  Plodder's  speculation  had  reached  the 
ranks,  where  he  was  no  favorite.  Divested  of  their 
official  forms  the  orders  were,  first,  publication  of  the 
proceedings  of  the  court-martial  before  which  Lieu- 
tenant Riggs  was  arraigned  and  tried,  and  in  accord- 
ance with  his  plea  was  found  guilty  and  sentenced  to 
be  dismissed  the  service.  All  of  which  was  approved  ; 
but,  said  the  order,  "in  view  of  the  earnest  recoin- 


295 

mendation  signed  by  the  entire  court,  and  concurred 
in  by  the  commanding  generals  of  the  department  and 
of  the  army,  the  president  has  been  pleased  to  remit 
the  sentence,  and  Lieutenant  Riggs  will  resume  his 
sword  and  return  to  duty." 

Then  came  the  second  order  from  the  A.G.O.  : 

"PROMOTIONS  AND  APPOINTMENTS. 

******** 

"  — th  Infantry. 

"  Second  Lieutenant  John  B.  Riggs  to  be  first  lieutenant,  vice 
Calvin  resigned.  December  3,  187-. 

"Second  Lieutenant  William  H.  Trainor  to  be  first  lieuten- 
ant, he  being  the  adjutant.  December  3, 187-." 

And  Plodder's  hoarded  four  hundred  dollars  had 
really  purchased  Riggs's  promotion.  "Bless  your 
generous  heart,  Plod  !"  burst  out  that  irrepressible 
scapegrace  Trickett  as  the  officers  dispersed  after  dis- 
missal of  parade.  "  Let  me  shake  hands  with  you, 
old  man.  Now  just  chip  in  another  four  hundred  and 
buy  me  a  file  and  I'll — "  But  the  rest  was  lost  in  the 
explosions  of  laughter,  under  cover  of  which  poor 
Plodder  went  raging  to  his  quarters. 

As  for  Riggs,  he  wore  his  bars  for  the  first  time  at 
Park's  Christmas  dinner,  and  he  wears  them  yet,  only 
he  hates  to  be  spoken  of  as  "  Plodder's  Promotion." 


THE    END. 


BY  CAPT.  CHARLES  KING. 


CAMPAIGNING    WITH    CROOK,    AND    STORIES    OF 
ARMY   LIFE.     Post  8vo,  Cloth,  $1  25. 

A   WAR-TIME   WOOING.     Illustrated   by  R.  F.  ZOGBAUM. 
pp.  iv.,  196.     Post  8vo,  Cloth,  $1  00. 

BETWEEN  THE   LINES.    A  Story  of  the  War.     Illustrated 
by  GILBERT  GAUL.     pp.  iv.,  312.     Post  8vo,  Cloth,  $1  25. 

In  all  of  Captain  King's  stories  the  author  holds  to  lofty  ideals  of  man- 
hood and  womanhood,  and  inculcates  the  lessons  of  honor,  generosity, 
courage,  and  self-control. — Literary  World,  Boston. 

The  vivacity  and  charm  which  signally  distinguish  Captain  King's 
pen.  ...  He  occupies  a  position  in  American  literature  entirely  his  own. 
.  .  .  His  is  the  literature  of  honest  sentiment,  pure  and  tender. — N.  Y.  Press. 

A  romance  by  Captain  King  is  always  a  pleasure,  because  ho  has  so 
complete  a  mastery  of  the  subjects  with  which  lie  deals.  .  .  .  Captain 
King  has  few  rivals  in  his  domain.  .  .  .  The  general  tone  of  Captain  King's 
stories  is  highly  commendable.  The  heroes  are  simple,  frank,  and  sol- 
dierly ;  the  heroines  are  dignified  and  maidenly  in  the  most  unconvention- 
al situations. — Epoch,  N.  Y. 

All  Captain  King's  stories  are  full  of  spirit  and  with  the  true  ring  about 
them. — Philadelphia  Item. 

Captain  King's  stories  of  army  life  are  so  brilliant  and  intense,  they 
have  such  a  ring  of  true  experience,  and  his  characters  are  so  lifelike  and 
vivid  that  the  announcement  of  a  new  one  is  always  received  with  pleas- 
ure.— New  Haven  Palladium. 

Captain  King  is  a  delightful  story-teller. —  Washington  Post. 

In  the  delineation  of  war  scenes  Captain  King's  style  is  crisp  and  vig. 
orous,  inspiring  in  the  breast  of  the  reader  a  thrill  of  genuine  patriotic  fer- 
vor.— Boston  Commonwealth. 

Captain  King  is  almost  without  a  rival  in  the  field  he  has  chosen.  .  .  . 
His  style  is  at  once  vigorous  and  sentimental  in  the  best  sense  of  that 
word,  so  that  his  novels  are  pleasing  to  young  men  as  well  as  young 
women. — Pittsburgh  Bulletin. 

It  is  good  to  think  that  there  is  at  least  one  man  who  believes  that  all 
the  spirit  of  romance  and  chivalry  has  not  yet  died  out  of  the  world,  and 
that  there  are  as  brave  and  honest  hearts  to-day  as  there  were  in  the 
days  of  knights  and  paladins. — Philadelphia  Record. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

*  A  ny  of  the  above  works  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the 
United  States,  Canada,  or  Mexico,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


BOOTS  AND   SADDLES; 

Or,  Life  in  Dakota  with  General  Ouster.  By  Mrs.  ELIZ- 
ABETH B.  CUSTEK.  With  Portrait  of  General  Ouster, 
pp.  312.  12mo,  Cloth,  $1  50. 

A  book  of  adventure  is  interesting  reading,  especially  when  it  is  all  true, 
as  is  the  case  with  "  Boots  and  Saddles."  *  *  *  She  does  not  obtrude  the 
fact  that  sunshine  and  solace  went  with  her  to  tent  and  fort,  but  it  in- 
heres in  her  narrative  none  the  less,  and  as  a  consequence  "  these  simple 
annals  of  our  daily  life,"  as  she  calls  them,  are  never  dull  nor  uninterest- 
ing.— Evangelist,  N.  Y. 

Mrs.  Ouster's  book  is  in  reality  a  bright  and  sunny  sketch  of  the  life 
of  her  late  husband,  who  fell  at  the  battle  of  "  Little  Big  Horn."  *  *  * 
After  the  war,  when  General  Ouster  was  sent  to  the  Indian  frontier,  his 
wife  was  of  the  party,  and  she  is  able  to  give  the  minute  story  of  her 
husband's  varied  career,  since  she  was  almost  always  near  the  scene  of 
his  adventures. — Brooklyn  Union. 

We  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  no  better  or  more  satisfactory  life 
of  General  Ouster  could  have  been  written.  Indeed,  we  may  as  well 
speak  the  thought  that  is  in  us,  and  say  plainly  that  we  know  of  no  bio- 
graphical work  anywhere  which  we  count  better  than  this.  *  *  *  Surely  the 
record  of  such  experiences  as  these  will  be  read  with  that  keen  interest 
which  attaches  only  to  strenuous  human  doings ;  as  surely  we  are  right 
in  saying  that  such  a  story  of  truth  and  heroism  as  that  here  told  will 
take  a  deeper  hold  upon  the  popular  mind  and  heart  than  any  work  of 
fiction  can.  For  the  rest,  the  narrative  is  as  vivacious  and  as  lightly  and 
trippingly  given  as  that  of  any  novel.  It  is  enriched  in  every  chapter  with 
illustrative  anecdotes  and  incidents,  and  here  and  there  a  little  life  story 
of  pathetic  interest  is  told  as  an  episode. — N.  Y.  Commercial  Advertiser. 

It  is  a  plain,  straightforward  story  of  the  author's  life  on  the  plains  of 
Dakota.  Every  member  of  a  Western  garrison  will  want  to  read  this 
book ;  every  .person  in  the  East  who  is  interested  in  Western  life  will 
want  to  read  it,  too;  and  every  girl  or  boy  who  has  a  healthy  appetite 
for  adventure  will  be  sure  to  get  it.  It  is  bound  to  have  an  army  of  read- 
ers that  few  authors  can  expect. — Philadelphia  Press. 

These  annals  of  daily  life  in  the  army  are  simple,  yet  interesting,  and 
underneath  all  is  discerned  the  love  of  a  true  woman  ready  for  any  sacri- 
fice. She  touches  on  themes  little  canvassed  by  the  civilian,  and  makes  a 
volume  equally  redolent  of  a  loving  devotion  to  an  honored  husband,  and 
attractive  as  a  picture  of  necessary  duty  by  the  soldier. —  Commonwealth, 
Boston.  

PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  N.  Y. 

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BY  W.  D.  HOWELLS. 


THE  SHADOW  OF  A  DREAM.     A  Story.     12mo,  Paper, 

50  cents  ;  Cloth,  $1  00. 

A  HAZARD  OF  NEW  FORTUNES.      Illustrated.      8vo, 
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Never,  certainly,  has  Mr.  Howells  written  more  brilliantly,  more  clearly, 
more  firmly,  or  more  attractively  than  in  this  instance. — N.  Y.  Tribune. 

This  new  novel  is  distinguished  by  the  possession  in  an  unusual  de- 
gree of  all  the  familiar  qualities  of  Mr.  Howells's  style.  The  humor  of 
it,  particularly,  is  abundant  and  delightful. — Philadelphia  Press. 

MODERN  ITALIAN  POETS.    Essays  and  Versions.     With 
Portraits.     12rao,  Half  Cloth,  $2  00. 

Mr.  Howells  has  in  this  work  enriched  American  literature  by  a  great 
deal  of  delicate,  discriminating,  candid,  and  sympathetic  criticism.  He 
has  enabled  the  general  public  to  obtain  a  knowledge  of  modern  Italian 
poetry  which  they  could  have  acquired  in  iiO  other  way. — N.  Y.  Tribune. 

ANNIE  KILBURN.     12mo,  Cloth,  $1  50. 

Mr.  Howells  has  certainly  never  given  us  in  one  novel  so  many  por- 
traits of  intrinsic  interest.  Annie  Kilburn  herself  is  a  masterpiece  of 
quietly  veracious  art — the  art  which  depends  for  its  effect  on  unswerv- 
ing fidelity  to  the  truth  of  Nature.  ...  It  certainly  seems  to  us  the 
very  best  book  that  3ir.  Howells  has  written. — Spectator,  London. 

APRIL  HOPES.     12mo,  Cloth,  $1  50. 

Mr.  Howells  never  wrote  a  more  bewitching  book.  It  is  useless  to 
deny  the  rarity  and  worth  of  the  skill  that  can  report  so  perfectly  and 
with  such  exquisite  humor  all  the  fugacious  and  manifold  emotions  of 
the  modern  maiden  and  her  lover. — Philadelphia  Press. 

THE    MOUSE-TRAP,   and    Other   Farces.      12mo,   Cloth, 

$1   00. 

Mr.  Howells's  gift  of  lively  appreciation  of  the  humors  that  lie  on  the 
surface  of  conduct  and  conversation,  and  his  skill  in  reproducing  them 
in  literary  form,  make  him  peculiarly  successful  in  his  attempts  at  grace- 
ful, delicately  humorous  dialogue. — .Boston  Advertiser. 


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BY  CONSTANCE  F.  WOOLSON. 


JUPITER  LIGHTS.     A  Novel.     16mo,  Cloth,  $1  25. 
EAST  ANGELS.     A  Novel.     16mo,  Cloth,  $1  25. 
ANNE.     A  Novel.     Illustrated.     16mo,  Cloth,  $1  25. 
FOR  THE  MAJOR.    A  Novelette.    16mo,  Cloth,  $1  00. 

CASTLE  NOWHERE.    Lake  Country  Sketches.    16mo, 
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RODMAN  THE  KEEPER.    Southern  Sketches.    16mo, 

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Delightful  touches  justify  those  who  see  many  points  of  analogy 
between  Miss  Woolson  and  George  Eliot. — JV.  Y.  Times. 

For  tenderness  and  purity  of  thought,  for  exquisitely  delicate 
sketching  of  characters,  Miss  Woolson  is  unexcelled  among  writers 
of  fiction. — New  Orleans  Picayune. 

Characterization  is  Miss  Woplson's  forte.  Her  men  and  women 
are  not  mere  puppets,  but  original,  breathing,  and  finely  contrasted 
creations. — Chicago  Tribune. 

Miss  Woolson  is  one  of  the  few  novelists  of  the  day  who  know 
how  to  make  conversation,  how  to  individualize  the  speakers,  how 
to  exclude  rabid  realism  without  falling  into  literary  formality. — 
N.  T.  Tribune. 

Constance  Fenimore  Woolson  may  easily  become  the  novelist 
laureate. — Boston  Globe. 

Miss  Woolson  has  a  graceful  fancy,  a  ready  wit,  a  polished  style, 
and  conspicuous  dramatic  power;  while  her  skill  in  the  develop- 
ment of  a  story  is  very  remarkable. — London  Life. 

Miss  Woolson  never  once  follows  the  beaten  track  of  the  orthodox 
novelist,  but  strikes  a  new  and  richly  loaded  vein  which,  so  far,  is 
all  her  own;  and  thus  we  feel,  on  reading  one  of  her  works,  a  fresh 
sensation,  and  we  put  down  the  book  with  a  sigh  to  think  our  pleas- 
ant task  of  reading  it  is  finished.  The  author's  lines  must  have 
fallen  to  her  in  very  pleasant  places;  or  she  has,  perhaps,  within 
herself  the  wealth  of  womanly  love  and  tenderness  she  pours  so 
freely  into  all  she  writes.  Such  books  as  hers  do  much  to  elevate 
the  moral  tone  of  the  day— a  quality  sadly  wanting  in  novels  of  the 
time. — Whitehall  Review,  London. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

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BY  CHARLES  DUDLEY  WARNER. 


A  LITTLE  JOURNEY  IN  THE  WORLD.  A  Novel 
pp.  iv.,  396.  Post  8vo,  Half  Leather,  $1  50. 

STUDIES  IN  THE  SOUTH  AND  WEST,  with  Com- 
ments on  Canada.  pp.  iv.,  484.  Post  8vo,  Half 
Leather,  $1  75. 

A  witty,  instructive  book,  as  brilliant  in  its  pictures  as  it  is  warm 
in  its  kindness  ;  and  we  feel  sure  that  it  is  with  a  patriotic  impulse 
that  we  say  that  we  shall  be  glad  to  learn  that  the  number  of  its 
readers  bears  some  proportion  to  its  merits  and  its  power  for  good. 
— JV.  Y.  Commercial  Advertiser. 

Sketches  made  from  studies  of  the  country  and  the  people  upon 
the  ground. .  .  .  They  are  the  opinions  of  a  man  and  a  scholar  with- 
out prejudices,  and  only  anxious  to  state  the  facts  as  they  were.  .  .  . 
When  told  in  the  pleasant  and  instructive  way  of  Mr.  Warner  the 
studies  are  as  delightful  as  they  are  instructive.— Chicago  Inter- 
Ocean. 

Perhaps  the  most  accurate  and  graphic  account  of  these  portions 
of  the  country  that  has  appeared,  taken  all  in  all.  ...  It  is  a  book 
most  charming— a  book  that  no  American  can  fail  to  enjoy,  appre- 
ciate, and  highly  prize. — Boston  Traveller. 

THEIR  PILGRIMAGE.  Richly  Illustrated  by  C.  S. 
REINHART.  pp.  viii.,  364.  Post  8vo,  Half  Leather, 

$2  00. 

Mr.  Warner's  pen-pictures  of  the  characters  typical  of  each  re- 
sort, of  the  manner  of  life  followed  at  each,  of  the  humor  and  ab- 
surdities peculiar  to  Saratoga,  or  Newport,  or  Bar  Harbor,  as  the 
case  may  be,  are  as  good-natured  as  they  are  clever.  The  satire, 
when  there  is  any,  is  of  the  mildest,  and  the  general  tone  is  that  of 
one  glad  to  look  on  the  brightest  side  of  the  cheerful,  pleasure-seek- 
ing world  with  which  he  mingles. — Christian  Union,  N.  Y. 

Mr.  Reiuhart's  spirited  and  realistic  illustrations  are  very  attract- 
ive, and  contribute  to  make  an  unusually  handsome  book.  We 
have  already  commented  upon  the  earlier  chapters  of  the  text;  and 
the  happy  blending  of  travel  and  fiction  which  we  looked  forward 
to  with  confidence  did,  ia  fact,  distinguish  this  story  among  the 
serials  of  the  year.—  N.  Y.  Evening  Post. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

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THE  CAPTAIN  OF  THE  JANIZARIES. 

A  Tale  of  the  Times  of  Scanderbeg  and  the  Fall  of  Constan- 
tinople. By  JAMES  M.  LUDLOW,  D.D.,  Litt.D.  pp.  iv., 
404.  16mo,  Cloth,  $1  50. 

The  author  writes  clearly  and  easily  ;  his  descriptions  are  often  of  much 
brilliancy,  while  the  whole  setting  of  the  story  is  of  that  rich  Oriental  char- 
acter which  fires  the  fancy.  —  Boston  Courier. 

Strong  in  its  central  historical  character,  abounding  in  incident,  rapid 
and  stirring  in  action,  animated  and  often  brilliant  in  style.  —  Christian 


Something  new  and  striking  interests  us  in  almost  every  chapter.  The 
peasantry  of  the  Balkans,  the  training  and  government  of  the  Janizaries, 
the  interior  of  Christian  and  Moslem  camps,  the  horrors  of  raids  and  bat- 
tles, the  violence  of  the  Sultan,  the  tricks  of  spies,  the  exploits  of  heroes, 
engage  Mr.  Ludlow's  fluent  pen.  —  N.  Y.  Tribune. 

Dr.  Ludlow's  style  is  a  constant  reminder  of  Walter  Scott,  and  the  book 
is  to  retain  a  permanent  place  in  literature.  —  Observer,  N.  Y. 

An  altogether  admirable  piece  of  work  —  picturesque,  truthful,  and  dra- 
matic. —  Newark  Advertiser. 

A  most  romantic,  enjoyable  tale.  ...  As  affording  views  of  inner  life  in 
the  East  as  long  ago  as  the  middle  of  the  fifteenth  century,  this  tale  ought 
to  have  a  charm  for  many;  but  it  is  full  enough  of  incident,  wherever 
the  theatre  of  its  action  might  be  found,  to  do  this.  —  Troy  Press. 

The  author  has  used  his  material  with  skill,  weaving  the  facts  of  history 
into  a  story  crowded  with  stirring  incidents  and  unexpected  situations,  and 
a  golden  thread  of  love-making,  under  extreme  difficulties,  runs  through 
the  narrative  to  a  happy  issue.  —  Examiner,  N.  Y. 

One  of  the  strongest  and  most  fascinating  historical  novels  of  the  last 
quarter  of  a  century.  —  Boston  Pilot. 

A  refreshing  and  remarkable  production.  There  is  here  no  wearisome 
soul-searching,  and  no  minute  analysis  of  the  trivial,  but  a  straightforward 
romance,  written  almost  in  the  great  manner  of  Scott.  As  a  story,  it  is 
absorbingly  interesting  from  first  page  to  last.  As  a  resuscitation  of 
history,  it  has  the  accuracy  without  the  pedantry  of  the  works  of  German 
and  other  moderns.  As  a  presentation  of  the  physical  aspects  of  the 
Balkan  peninsula,  it  is  very  striking,  and  shows  close  familiarity  with  the 
regions  described.  As  a  study  of  the  life  and  manner  of  the  remote 
epoch  with  which  it  deals,  it  exhibits,  without  ostentation,  a  careful  and 
minute  research  ;  and  as  a  literary  composition,  it  has  more  merits  and 
fewer  faults  than  most  of  the  books  written  in  this  age  of  hurried  pro- 
duction. —  Dial,  Chicago. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

HABPKR  &  BBOTHKRS  will  send  the  above  work  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part 
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BY  LAFCADIO  HEARN. 

Two   YEARS   IN  THE   FRENCH  WEST  INDIES.    By   LAFCADIO 

HEARN.    pp.517.    Copiously  Illustrated.    Post  8  vo,  Cloth, 

$2  00. 
THE  CRIME  OF  SYLVESTRE  BONNARD.     By  ANATOLE  FRANCE. 

The  Translation  and   Introduction  by  LAFCADIO  HEARN. 

8vo,  Paper,  50  cents. 
CHITA:    A  Memory  of   Last   Island.     By  LAFCADIO  HEARN. 

pp.  vi.,  204.     Post  8vo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  00. 


To  such  as  are  unfamiliar  with  Mr.  Hearn's  writings, "Chita"  will 
be  a  revelation  of  how  near  language  can  approach  the  realistic  pow- 
er of  actual  painting.  His  very  words  seem  to  have  color— his  pages 
glow — his  book  is  a  kaleidoscope. — JY".  Y.  Mail  and  Express. 

A  powerful  story,  rich  in  descriptive  passages.  . . .  The  tale  is  a 
tragic  one,  but  it  shows  remarkable  imaginative  force,  and  is  one 
that  will  not  soon  be  forgotten  by  the  reader.— Saturday  Evening 
Gazette,  Boston. 

Lafcadio  Hearn's  exquisite  story.  ...  A  tale  full  of  poetry  and 
vivid  description  that  nobody  will  want  to  miss. — N.  T.  Sun. 

A  pathetic  little  tale,  simple  but  deeply  touching,  and  told  with 
the  beauty  of  phrasing  and  the  deep  and  subtle  sympathy  of  the 
poet. — Chicago  Times. 

There  is  no  page — no  paragraph  even — but  holds  more  of  vital 
quality  than  would  suffice  to  set  up  an  ordinary  volume.  —  The 
Epoch,  N.  Y. 

...  A  wonderfully  sustained  effort  in  imaginative  prose,  full  of 
the  glamour  and  opulent  color  of  the  tropics  and  yet  strong  with 
the  salt  breath  of  the  sea. — San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

Mr.  Hearn  is  a  poet,  and  in  "  Chita  "  he  has  produced  a  prose  poem 
of  much  beauty.  .  . .  His  style  is  tropical,  full  of  glow  and  swift 
movement  and  vivid  impressions,  reflecting  strong  love  and  keen 
sympathetic  observation  of  nature,  picturesque  and  flexible,  luxuri- 
ant in  imagery,  and  marked  by  a  delicate  perception  of  effective  val- 
ues.— JV.  Y.  Tribune. 

In  the  too  few  pages  of  this  wonderful  little  book  tropical  Nature 
finds  a  living  voice  and  a  speech  by  which  she  can  make  herself 
known.  All  the  splendor  of  her  skies  and  the  terrors  of  her  seas 
make  to  themselves  a  language.  So  living  a  book  has  scarcely  been 
given  to  our  generation. — Boston  Transcript. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

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BEN-HUR:  A  TALE  OF  THE  CHRIST. 

By  LEW.  WALLACE.     New  Edition,     pp.  552.     16mo, 
Cloth,  $1  50. 


Anything  so  startling,  new,  and  distinctive  as  the  leading  feature  of 
this  romance  does  not  often  appear  in  works  of  fiction.  .  .  .  Some  of  Mr. 
Wallace's  writing  is  remarkable  for  its  pathetic  eloquence.  The  scenes 
described  in  the  New  Testament  are  rewritten  with  the  power  and  skill  of 
an  accomplished  master  of  style. — N.  Y.  Times. 

Its  real  basis  is  a  description  of  the  life  of  the  Jews  and  Romans  at  the 
beginning  of  the  Christian  era,  and  this  is  both  forcible  and  brilliant.  .  .  . 
We  are  carried  through  a  surprising  variety  of  scenes ;  we  witness  a  sea- 
fight,  a  chariot-race,  the  internal  economy  of  a  Roman  galley,  domestic  in- 
teriors at  Antioch,  at  Jerusalem,  and  among  the  tribes  of  the  desert ;  pal- 
aces, prisons,  the  haunts  of  dissipated  Roman  youth,  the  houses  of  pious 
famines  of  Israel.  There  is  plenty  of  exciting  incident ;  everything  is  ani- 
mated, vivid,  and  glowing. — N.  Y.  Tribune. 

From  the  opening  of  the  volume  to  the  very  close  the  reader's  interest 
will  be  kefit  at  the  highest  pitch,  and  the  novel  will  be  pronounced  by  all 
one  of  the  greatest  novels  of  the  day. — Boston  Post. 

It  is  full  of  poetic  beauty,  as  though  born  of  an  Eastern  sage,  and  there 
is  sufficient  of  Oriental  customs,  geography,  nomenclature,  etc.,  to  greatly 
strengthen  the  semblance. — Boston  Commonwealth. 

"Ben-Hur"  is  interesting,  and  its  characterization  is  fine  and  strong. 
Meanwhile  it  evinces  careful  study  of  the  period  in  which  the  scene  is  laid, 
and  will  help  those  who  read  it  with  reasonable  attention  to  realize  the 
nature  and  conditions  of  Hebrew  life  in  Jerusalem  and  Roman  life  at 
Antioch  at  the  time  of  our  Saviour's  advent. — Examiner,  N.  Y. 

It  is  really  Scripture  history  of  Christ's  time  clothed  gracefully  and  deli- 
cately in  the  flowing  and  loose  drapery  of  modern  fiction.  .  .  .  Few  late 
works  of  fiction  excel  it  in  genuine  ability  and  interest. — N.  Y.  Graphic. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  and  delightful  books.  It  is  as  real  and 
warm  as  life  itself,  and  as  attractive  as  the  grandest  and  most  heroic  chap- 
ters of  history. — Indianapolis  Journal. 

The  book  is  one  of  unquestionable  power,  and  will  be  read  with  un- 
wonted interest  by  many  readers  who  are  weary  of  the  conventional  novel 
and  romance. — Boston  Journal. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

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